Reckless Season One
by Adam the Red
Summary: New York City, 1985. With the world abandoning her, the Slayer has only demons and vampires to turn to.
1. Abandon

_Author's note: This series takes place beginning in September 1985, in New York city. There have been two Slayers since Nikki Wood died in 1977 - this is the story of the second, Niki Valtaine. 'Episodes' are broken into four Acts.__  
__Disclaimer: I own all original characters but none of the ones created by Joss Whedon & Co., nor do I own the concept or terminology._

**Reckless: Season One**

Abandon - Act 1

Niki danced the knife between her fingers, the tip striking only the table top, never touching flesh. She danced the knife faster as her annoyance grew. Addison was on with another one of his 'you're a disappointment' lectures.

"I simply cannot condone such reckless behavior and blatant disregard for my authority." He scowled, drawing his white bushy brows together. "Are you even _listening_ to me?" he demanded, taking a step forward and snatching the knife from her skilled hands. "I'm talking about your attitude," he said vehemently, shaking the knife by the blade to emphasize. "_This_ is exactly the problem. You don't care about your duty. You don't care about the Council's directives..." he turned away, exasperated, as she continued to ignore him. "You have a _job to do!_"

"I do my job," she said evenly. It was nothing but the truth and they both knew it.

"Yes, but you aren't taking it seriously," he snapped. "You aren't doing your job the way the Council has outlined!"

"Why don't you come out on patrol with me sometime and tell me then that I don't take my job seriously," she replied, just as harshly. "The Council isn't often cornered in a sewer with a pack of vamps, now are they?"

"The Council's sole responsibility," Addison lowered his tone, "is to ensure the protection of the innocent. You are their primary weapon in the fight against the forces of darkness. I don't think it's too much to ask that you comply with their recommendations."

"It's funny, I don't recall anyone ever asking me if I wanted to be the Council's tool." Niki stood abruptly from the kitchen table and began to pace the length of the small, adjoining living room. The apartment was a little cramped, yes, but she was rarely there anyway.

"You were chosen," Addison said losing all patience. "And we are _not_ going to have _that_ discussion again."

"Whatever," she shrugged, almost disappointedly, and turned for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" he took a step to block her way, the knife still in his hand.

"Uh, vampires don't slay themselves," she raised an eyebrow, "unless the all-knowing Council finally has something interesting to tell me..."

Addison again blocked her attempt to exit. "You're going to see that _man_ again, aren't you?" there was a contempt in his voice that only a Brit could pull off. "That small-claims lawyer, that _married_ small-claims lawyer."

"Logan," she said simply. "No, I only see him Monday, Wednesday and Sundays," she added sarcastically. She really had intended to go find something to make dead. Vampire or not.

"I don't like you seeing him," Addison said bluntly. "He's a distraction and besides... it's immoral."

"He's the adulterer, not me. I'm not judgmental," she shrugged. "And he's not a distraction. He kills vampires better than you do." She knew the sting would hit her Watcher where she intended and he dropped his gaze for a moment. She took the opportunity to slip past him and out into the hallway. "I'll be back whenever," she offered over her shoulder as she stalked down the hall, slipping her leather jacket on over her frayed, white T-shirt. She tossed her shoulder length blond hair out from under its collar as it settled down around her like a security blanket. That jacket had been more of a father to her than Addison had ever been. It had been given to her under very special circumstances and she treasured the comfort it offered.

Maybe there would be some new creature at the Nail Biter tonight, she thought. Something new and challenging to kill. The patron, Diego, didn't like her killing off his regulars, but he didn't mind being rid of tourists. Even demons hate tourists.

The cold night air greeted her along with the sounds of the ever present New York traffic and the glittering skyline. What a beautiful night to be reckless.

---

"We're just passing through," the big, burly man said, his hands gripping his Harley's handlebars tightly. The engine growled in response.

"Look pal," the night-watchman said, aiming the beam of the flashlight across the faces of the two dozen bikers, "this isn't a parking lot. It's private property. The owner would have my head on a plate if I let you stay here."

The lead biker smiled a wide smile. "Listen to that, boys," he turned his head to his compatriots, "the man's offering his head on a plate if we'll stay here." There were chuckles. Turning back, the biker's face transformed beyond the features of a human being. His voice was gruff and guttural now, not to mention hungry. "How can we refuse an offer like that?"

As the guard's eyes widened and he reached for his baton, the lead biker launched himself from his Softail custom and landed with a snarl before the terrified man. The guard stumbled backwards and turned to run, only to find himself faced with several more leather-clad bikers. They all grinned hungrily as their faces changed.

The guard whimpered weakly as they set upon him all at once, his final cry drowned by the roar of engines as the gang began to move out again.

---

Niki strolled into the small, dark bar known as the Nail Biter and the usual characters shuffled out. She ignored them. Any who knew enough to fear her deserved to get away. At least, this time. Her little 'rules' were quite flexible. Some heavy metal band or other screamed through the background as she waded through the small clusters of tables to the bar.

"Evening, Slayer," the man at the bar said with no small amount of exasperation. "I can always tell it's you because my sales plummet when you walk in." He continued to clean a glass with the white rag under the center of the three spotlights which hung from the ceiling above the bar. The shadows which hung from his face made his long nose look like a beak. His upswept eyebrows drew together as she reached behind the bar for a bottle. His broad smile diminished only slightly. He never really stopped smiling.

"Then you should think about getting new customers," she suggested, pouring herself a healthy portion of the golden liquid. As the barkeep continued to clean his glass, the slayer frowned and looked around the bar, eventually pawing behind it looking for what she knew he kept somewhere.

"Looking for this?" he held up a vial of white powder. He shook it for emphasis but pulled it out of reach as she made a grab for it. "It's not good for you."

"I'm touched that you care," she said dryly, settling back into her stool, knowing he would eventually give it to her. She fingered her drink without taking a sip, staring down into its golden abyss.

Felix finally set the vial down and slid it grudgingly towards her. Without looking up, she uncorked it and sprinkled some into her drink, being sure not to spill any. Setting the cork loosely back into the mouth of the vial, she swallowed the drink with gusto. Instantly the misery was gone, replaced with a floating bliss and heightened senses.

"Okay," she said quickly, Felix' image sharpening and deepening to the extreme. "What have you got for me?"

Felix, who wasn't always happy about the fine print of his job, set the glass back on the shelf behind him. He began to slowly fold the cloth, over and over again as he spoke. She was blinking rapidly and her eyes were bloodshot. The stuff was never meant for humans. "There's something coming," he said taking his eyes from hers. "Something ugly, by demon standards – not like we're used to in the big apple."

"A face for radio, gotcha. Anything else?" she was eager now, excited about the prospect of killing something, unlike just about every other minute of the day. Something about the stuff awakened the lust in her blood for it. It was as if she wasn't really a Slayer until she had the stuff coursing through her veins.

"It's vampiric," Felix offered, finally unfolding his cloth and taking the glass back off the shelf to scrub it some more. "It also happens to be the carrier of a rather nasty disease."

Niki frowned, but in interest, not anger. "A vampire with a disease? That's impossible. They're undead, how can they be sick?"

"Well, I didn't say it was a vampire, did I?" Felix frowned. "I said it was vampiric. It _was_ a vampire, until it contracted the plague."

"Bubonic?" she asked with a trace of amusement.

"Nosphoric," he answered, his smile still present, but sharing none of her amusement. "An ancient Macedonian sorcerer's trick. Only vampires can be carriers, but once they've got it..." his smile actually faltered, if only for an instant, "they're not really vampires any more."

"What does this sicky want?" Niki asked, sipping gingerly at the remains of her drink. "A cure?"

Felix actually laughed. "No," he tried to calm his outburst. "Oh, dear me, no." He shook his head. "You're so naive." To her frown he elaborated. "The thing doesn't know it's sick. Most of the time, it looks just like any other vampire – that is, just like a human. Only when it needs to feed does it change, and then you can't miss it." He laughed again, ironically. "No, it doesn't want a cure. It wants to wipe out the human race, just like it was programmed to by the plague." He folded the towel and set the glass back on the shelf. "And naturally, it's going to start with you."

Niki sighed resentfully and up ended her glass. "Naturally."

---

Abandon - Act 2

The vampire slowly stroked his chin, acting very thoughtful. His wasn't a terribly handsome face, a bit high in the cheekbones, a bit thin on the lips, but he characterized himself as 'just this side of austere' and left it at that. On his black T-shirt was emblazoned KISS in silver letters.

"I know you're hunted," the man opposite him said, keeping always to the shadows of the alley, never saying more than a few words at a time. The vampire's responses were characterized by long periods of silence. What does one say when this sort of thing happens? What does a vampire say?

"I can make your troubles go away." The figure shifted in the shadow, lifting something from his pocket. Pearce tensed as he feared the man might draw a stake. But it wasn't a stake. It was a silver bracelet. The vampire frowned nonetheless.

"What's that?" Pearce asked as the man in the shadow offered him the bracelet. He flatly refused to touch it until it was identified. He didn't know all the tricks and trinkets in the world, but he knew someone would have to be especially stupid to take a talisman of any kind without knowing what it was for.

"Not magic," the man answered, offering the bracelet further from the shadow until Pearce finally took it, albeit hesitantly. "It will protect you from those like me and those who work for me."

Pearce looked down at the sliver chain with a small silver plate on it, like a dog tag. On the little plate was a symbol IXI. "How's this going to protect me if it's not magic?"

The man sighed. "Year wear it on your right wrist and anyone who sees it and knows what it means won't stake you." The man finally stepped from the shadow as Pearce examined the bracelet contemplatively.

"Will it protect me from your Slayer?"

Addison shook his head. "No. She's never seen this before and probably wouldn't care either way anyway." The Watcher sighed. "And that's part of the problem." He looked up into the vampire's eyes, his gaze hardening. "Her careless attitude could cost innocents their lives. The Council cannot allow that."

"What you're asking..." Pearce shook his head, looking back down at the bracelet. "It's risky for me. You said yourself this thing won't keep her from staking me. And all you're offering me is protection from the Council?"

"What else can I give you?" Addison frowned, his bushy white eyebrows coming together. "What more could a vampire ask for?"

"Peace of mind," Pearce said instantly. He held up the bracelet as a point. "Your guarantee: no matter how many people I eat, _this_ stays permanent. No slaying of the Pierce. I have carte blanche. Agreed?"

The Watcher ground his teeth together. If worse came to worse, he supposed, no one really knew this agreement had ever been made. "Agreed," he offered his hand and Pearce took it. "Now you know what to do. You could never kill her in combat, not one on one."

Pearce shrugged. "I know that. I have to get close to her. Make her trust me."

Addison raised an eyebrow. "Her problem is that she trusts your kind too much. And the only way she'll trust you is if she has no reason to trust you."

"Which brings us back to the fact that this little trinket," the vamp held up the silver chain, "won't keep me from getting staked."

Addison shrugged. "I didn't argue when you said it was risky. But I didn't chose you at random." This got Pearce's attention. "I chose you," he said slowly, "because you are one of the most elusive vampires the Council has ever tried to track. With our protection, we also have the opportunity to keep tabs on you. And surely you find nothing wrong with that."

"An institution devoted to killing those like me... and yes, I'm extatic that they'll now know each time I take a piss."

Addison nodded. "Good, so you'll get close to her, then you know what to do." He turned from the alley and walked out onto the street. "And I'll be watching you," he said over his shoulder. "It's what I do."

---

The echo of the many engines slowly died down as the Harleys stopped in front of the warehouse. Perfect place to call home. Lots of room for the hogs, and just enough foot traffic to make take-out unnecessary.

The lead vamp climbed from his bike and lit a cigarette. The flame from the match danced for a moment before he flicked it to the pavement and squashed it under his snake skin boot. Now to arrange for a lease...

After a moment, as the other gang members dismounted, the lead's attention was drawn to sounds coming from inside the warehouse. He frowned and shifted his great, leather-clad weight onto his impatient foot. Finally, the small service door near the corner of the building swung fully open and clanged against the cement of the wall. After a long moment, during which the bikers assembled into a rough skirmishing line, most lighting cigarettes and some fingering blades or chains, a figure appeared from the darkness within the vast building. Then another. And then another.

One by one vampires filed out of the warehouse to stand in a long neat line, parallel to the biker gang. All of them wore black, either leather or fabric, and their faces were pale to the point of being white. Most had accentuated the black of their hair and eyelashes with some type of makeup and they displayed their many silver or black piercings prominently. There were at least thirty of them.

The leader of the Goths strode forward, the thin silver chain which joined his ear to his bottom lip swaying as he walked. He wore tall black boots with thick heels and carried nothing but a short, shiny dagger.

When the Goth was only eight feet from the biker, he stopped, looking the gang leader up and down with clear contempt. "Are you lost?" his voice was thin and serpentine.

The biker raised an eyebrow and looked along his line of road warriors. "No, we just found our new home." He snarled. "Looks like it already has a pest problem, though."

The Goth's face was unreadable, either from the amount of makeup or the various metal gear attached to it. "You seem to have mistaken our great home for your dwelling." He made a small bow with his black nailed hand on his chest. "I forgive your oversight and will allow you to leave."

The biker's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked about himself, as if looking for the fool this snake was talking to. "You'll allow _us_ to leave?" He laughed a great belly laugh, immediately joined by his gang. With a rough gesture of his hand, the laughter stopped. The snake was still standing there, placidly. The biker growled. "I make boots out of the likes of you!"

The Goth cocked his head slightly. "I throw your kind out altogether." He looked between the rows of leather-bearing and black-clad creatures of the night. "I will still allow you to leave."

The biker snarled and yanked his cigarette from between his own lips, stuck out his tongue and jammed the still burning end against it with a hiss. Throwing the butt away, he slid his hand into his leather vest and found his Bowie knife. He brandished it meaningfully as his comrades grinned eagerly. "I'm making no such allowances for you."

The Goth made another small bow, then in a flash threw his small dagger to the other's heart. With a howl of rage, the biker stumbled back, dropping his Bowie, the other's knife up to the hilt in his undead flesh. The biker gang rushed forward with snarls and curses, swinging their various weapons as the Goths met them head on, slashing and stabbing with their many small blades.

The lead Goth was ignored as he watched the lead biker draw the blade from his chest and toss it angrily to the ground. To prove his annoyance, he vamped out, snarling and gnashing his teeth. The Goth did likewise and they found each other in hand to hand combat.

The biker had superior strength and weight, but the Goth had surprising speed and agility, managing to dodge and block most of the biker's attacks. Had they both been human, the fight would have ended with the biker tired out, or the Goth failing to duck from a lethal blow. But with nearly limitless stamina, they kept up their dance until all that could be heard from behind them, among their respective armies, were groans and curses. The cult and the gang virtually annihilated each other, maiming beyond recognition or decapitating until there were none left to fight.

Suddenly, as the Goth ducked a vicious left hook from a meaty fist and twisted under another swing to find himself behind the great biker's back, his vampire hearing told him someone was trying to cut in on their tango. Without the chance to turn around he hissed and evaporated in a shower of dust, the stake remaining where his heart had been.

The biker turned around, intending to deliver a blow right to the face of the twitchy little punk, but his fist found itself locked in the iron grip of a blond haired girl. He winced as her grip tightened.

"I was hoping you two would meet," she said with a smile. "I'm glad no one got lost – my directions have been known to be a little confusing." She squeezed and twisted his fist and he winced even more. She glanced at the array of un-dead bodies and body parts spread out before the warehouse. "Call me lazy, but I'm sure glad I didn't have to stake each and every one of you." And without another moment's hesitation, she thrust the stake into the biker's chest. With a scream he disintegrated to the pavement.

Now it was only a matter of clean up. Find the heart, pierce the heart. One of her favorite games. She strode forward to the mangled vampires and vampire parts. She smiled as she hefted her stake. There were probably even some nice jackets she could borrow.

---

Abandon - Act 3

He slowly closed his briefcase with a subdued click. There was the constant thrum of the engines and the gentle vibration through his seat that kept him awake all day. He hated flying during the days. His window screen was pulled down tight and he rested low in his seat to avoid the rays of the blasted sun from the other passengers' windows.

He always preferred flying at night, but his business was pressing and he couldn't be as selective as in the old days. He spread his hands across the black leather top of the briefcase. Inside the inner pocket was the key he had been assigned to carry. The key that would change the course of history to favor those who lived in the old days. Those like himself.

He smiled. What was riding in the cargo hold was beyond anything this world had seen in centuries. In millennia even. Soon they would reach the great America he had heard about. Soon the Nosphorus would awake.

Deep in the darkness of the jet's underbelly, packed between crates of suitcases and miscellaneous baggage, a simple steel coffin resting in a long wooden crate, the coffin wrapped in many chains, the crate – a simple hasp and padlock for which there was but one key.

Resting comfortably inside the steel of the coffin, a corpse was sleeping, ready to be woken in New York.

---

"That is _exactly_ what I'm talking about," Addison waved his hands adamantly. "You were given a simple task: track the motorcycle gang and learn their intentions, but you couldn't keep your stake in your pocket, could you?"

Niki rolled her eyes. "It's not _my_ fault they happened to run into each other..." She shrugged innocently, but Addison glared, knowing full well her part in it. "They were clashing cultures, it was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Now we don't know their reason for coming to this part of the state," the Watcher muttered angrily. "We know nothing about their involvement in the trail of murders spanning New Jersey," he sighed, shaking his head, "we don't even know if they were responsible." As though Niki weren't paying attention, which was true, he raised his voice. "Do you see how that is going to be a problem?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "It's kinda simple: if the murders keep up – I killed the wrong vamps, though there's really no such thing – and then I just go out and keep killing vamps until the murders stop." She frowned at him in irritation. "I don't see how this is a problem!"

"It's a problem because you're talking about human lives!" Addison shouted, slamming his fist down onto the kitchen table top, making the glasses jump. "A fact you seem to care less and less about with each passing day!" He stormed across the room and switched on the television. A newscaster was reporting next to a crime scene in which several body bags were being sealed up. "They are _human beings_," he shouted across the small distance from the living room. "They go about their bloody merry ways until a vampire stumbles across them and then it's toe tag city. What _you_ don't seem to understand is that it's your _responsibility_ to prevent that! Each and every one of them – do you understand me?" he demanded. "Each and every one's blood is on your lazy, thrill seeking hands. Yes, it is _kinda simple_," he spat, "you're _not_ doing your job. I don't give a rat's ass how many gangs you can get to flatten each other in one night! Your _job_ is to listen to the Council and kill whom we say you are to kill and track whom we tell you to track. Had you listened to me, these three people–" Addison rapped the glass of the television screen, "might still be alive and our harmless little Hell's Angels might be on their way out of town."

The Watcher marched back into the kitchen to the sullen Slayer. "It's all a game to you, isn't it?" he demanded. "How can you care so _little_ for them that you ignore me?" His voice dropped in volume as he saw she was now paying attention. He slowly sat in the chair opposite her. "I know you hate this. I know you hate me. You always have." She looked up, her eyes conveying exactly what he feared – confirmation. "For God's sake, don't punish them because I ruined your life."

Niki stood with a crash, knocking her chair back onto the floor. "I don't punish them." She snatched her leather jacket from the coatrack by the door. "They punish me."

Addison looked sadly to the window as the door slammed shut yet again.

---

Niki walked dejectedly down the dark streets of the inner city. Sirens wailed in the distance. There were always sirens. Why? Why alert everyone when something terrible has happened? Shouldn't we know it has happened? Shouldn't we expect it? Is there a vampire waiting in this alley? In the next one? What's the difference?

She found herself counting the gritty footfalls which were approaching from behind. They were quicker than her own, but they were slowing as they grew louder, falling into step with her own slow paces.

"Hey there," said the familiar voice. She barely glanced up to see the man with short cropped blond hair who now walked beside her. They looked out of place, walking together – he in his brown blazer and khakis and she in her threadbare white T-shirt and leather jacket.

Without any invitation, he slid his hand inside her jacket and around her waist, drawing her closer to him as their footsteps became indistinguishable. "What's wrong?" he frowned, letting her pull herself free from his embrace after a moment.

She stopped in the middle of the street and turned to him. What was he to her? A distraction? Definitely. An addiction, like all her others? "Nothing," she said quietly. "Let's go somewhere."

---

Pearce watched in silent fascination as the two crossed the crowded bar for one of the private back rooms. He knew who she was. And he was sure she knew he knew. Somehow, she didn't care. It certainly wasn't the reaction he had expected. This entire club was filled with vampires, and yet she ignored them, intent on the man beside her and the back room where they were headed. Then the scent found his vampire nostrils. Lust. They lusted for each other. Was that more powerful than her lust to kill his kind? What kind of animal was she?

After almost ten minutes of staring into his drink and mulling over what he had thought would be his first battle with the Slayer, he stood and followed them. He had to know.

Their bodies rose and fell like some liquid creature trapped amid the sheets. The gasps made the vampire's heart race. There was nothing like human passion to stir his hunger. The vulnerability — the sheer exposure of human mating made him lust for his own passionate encounter. He turned from the curtain and moved purposefully across the bar.

They weren't supposed to be vampires here, but they couldn't afford to screen everyone, so they simply ignored the problem. They also weren't supposed to serve people to customers. But they did.

The large man put his hand on Pearce's chest as the vampire moved for the most secluded door. "Far enough, skinny," the bouncer boomed. "No one goes in without Vince's say so." He leaned in close to Pearce's ear. "And Vince don't like vampires."

Pearce made an unconcerned gesture, somewhere between a shrug and a wave, allowing his sleeve to fall back and the silver chain to flash in the directed light. "But what wouldn't Vince do for a friend of a friend?"

The bouncer caught the vamp's wrist and brought it closer to his face. IXI. He squinted, then released the wrist. "In you go. Rules are: one person a night. You leave the body here–" he held up a finger in warning, "and _no_ turning 'em. I don't want any messes like they had over at O'Shay's."

Pearce smiled as the bouncer stepped aside. "Don't you need Vince's say so?"

The bouncer smirked and tapped a finger to a small blue sticker on his big chest.

Hello, my name is

Vince

---

Abandon - Act 4

Niki made a little moan, spreading her hand across his smooth chest. She felt his fingers interlace with her own. His breath was gently caressing her eyelids. Her lips twitched into a smile. The fact that there were a dozen vampires on the other side of the curtain had only heightened the excitement, but now it threatened the bliss.

As she simply lay there, however, she began to realize that a threatened bliss was the most precious kind. She could lay here forever. She could drown in him. Her own blond haired addiction. She wondered if he could tell how little he meant to her.

Her eyes shot open as the distant and muffled scream penetrated the bliss.

---

Pearce's fingers were numb. He hadn't expected her to struggle so much. His face contorted in pain as her teeth sank into his fingers. He pulled his hand from her mouth, allowing her to scream again. Then he backhanded her, sending her tumbling to the cushions on the floor. He should never have untied her.

"Be _quiet,_" he hissed, looking worriedly over his shoulder to the door. "You're not even supposed to be here."

"I don't _want_ to be here," she sobbed, cowering against the far wall, massaging her wrists which had be bound too tight for too long. Her dark hair hung in a mess over her tear stained face as she crouched low. "Please don't k- kill me," she begged, crouching lower as he approached, his hands out as if to pacify her.

"Aw, crap," he rolled his eyes. "I'm no good at this."

"Problem?" the big bouncer asked, amused, entering and closing the door behind him. The girl crouched even lower when she saw him.

"Why couldn't you have gotten a fang junkie or something," Pearce looked from the sobbing girl to the big bouncer. "I can't stand it when they beg."

The bouncer laughed jovially. "That bracelet's made you soft, Pierce. You can't take it like you used to."

Pearce raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You know me?"

"Saw your trinket, did some checking," the big man said proudly. "Not too many vamps get special orders from Watcher central." Pearce was speechless. "The Prince of Pierce," the bouncer said with an amused tone. "How you've fallen from grace."

Pearce slowly dropped his gaze. "Couldn't you just find me someone else?" He felt the shame of his own words, but couldn't avoid them. He wasn't the Pierce anymore.

The bouncer smirked and as the girl squeaked in terror, he reached for her and took her by the hair. He lifted her to her feet, then struck her hard across the cheek, sending her unconscious to the floor. "There. Feast away, great prince." Pearce looked down at the unconscious girl, then turned with the bouncer at the sound of the new voice.

"Vince, Vince, Vince," Niki was shaking her head. "I thought you got out of this business ages ago."

The bouncer suddenly looked uncomfortable. His eyes shifted about the very incriminating room. Shackles, bloodstains... a vampire. "It's not what you think," Vince said at last, slowly sliding his hand into his pocket.

Niki simply continued staring at him, blinking only twice. Vince now looked very uncomfortable. His hand found his pocket empty and he was edging towards the door. Suddenly a high flying kick caught him in the chin and sent him down onto the floor, missing the pile of pillows, with a crash to lay unconscious.

Pearce swallowed. He looked the Slayer up and down as she did the same. If she could tell he was a nervous wreck, she didn't let on. "Hello," he said bravely.

Her right eyebrow slowly raised in curiosity. Her face then cracked into a smile. "Hello?"

Pearce felt her amused contempt from where he stood at the other end of the room. He frowned. He could take it from Vince, but the Slayer would respect him, dammit. Even if he had to make her. "Oh, shut up," he muttered angrily. He widened his stance and raised his arms defensively. "Let's go."

Niki could no longer contain any of her amusement now. She laughed out loud, albeit briefly, as a tight fist caught her squarely in the jaw.

---

Addison slowly closed his eyes. The whine grew to a higher pitch. "Please ensure your seat backs and tray tables are in their upright and locked positions as we will be ascending to thirty five thousand feet. Thank you for choosing British Airways and I hope you will enjoy your flight."

There was nothing more the Watcher could do for her. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever again. But none of it was up to him. It wasn't even up to the Council. For once, it was up to Niki. His confidence in his plan was less than optimal, but it was the best he could do. When it was all said and done, at least there was another Slayer to be called. That was the only comfort he drew as the plane slowly pointed East to England. Was it any kind of comfort? Was it any kind of plan?


	2. Hounding

Hounding - Act 1

Pearce landed hard against the brick wall outside the bar. He rolled across some garbage bags and through a puddle. "Ow!" he groaned angrily, lifting himself from the murky water. "And– _ew_!" He looked up in time to duck from a wooden and steel barstool which flew from the doorway and splintered against the brick wall behind him.

Niki strolled from the bar, massaging her jaw. "What did Vince call you? The great prince?" The vampire didn't answer, merely standing and wringing out the front of his black shirt. "You don't even have your face on," she dove forward, catching him off guard and wrestling him to the ground. "What's wrong," she asked, as he threw her off him, "haven't taken enough punishment?"

Pearce grimaced and bared his still human teeth. "Don't you ever shut up?" He dropped to the ground and rolled at her legs, twisting, but not hard enough, succeeding only in bringing her down to sit on his chest. She tried, but was unable to withhold her laughter. Pearce fumed.

"Come on," she goaded, "put on the face – I can't dust you like this."

Pearce almost snarled – something that would have been much more effective if he had been able to vamp out, but as it was... "I can't," he said bitterly.

Niki frowned. "You _can't_? Why not?"

Pearce bit his lip. "A little boy... I ate his mother... he made a wish: that I wouldn't be so scary... a very childish wish, I admit, but someone was listening."

Niki snickered. "Aw... The little vampire that couldn't."

"Piss off!" Pearce delivered a vicious blow to her kidney.

The Slayer jabbed his ribs with her heel before standing up. "I guess that's why you fight like a Girl Guide."

The vamp glared. "You're no Bruce Lee yourself!"

Niki scoffed. "And I'm supposed to take pointers from who? The Girl Guide?"

Pearce cursed and charged at her but was easily, if awkwardly, diverted and sent head first into the wall. "Ow," he moaned, rubbing his head as he turned around. "I know _how_ to fight," the vamp said with irritation, "I'm just not _able_ to."

To prove his point, he lifted an aluminum lid from a garbage can and tossed it into the air before him. When it came back down to eye level, he launched himself into the air and delivered a kick so powerful that the lid folded exactly in half. He landed deftly on his feet and the lid clattered to the ground. "I didn't get the title of Prince for no reason."

"Impressive," Niki nodded, offering a few token claps. "But you're right; not particularly terrifying."

"So dusting me," Pearce said with a small hint of hope, "wouldn't exactly be a terrific display of Slayer prowess." He reached down and picked up the crumpled lid at his feet, unfolding it with ease.

"I don't know," Niki shrugged. "As you pointed out, I could use the practice." She took a step towards him, amused that he backpedaled in time with her, keeping their distance constant.

"Then how about this," Pearce raised his hands defensively. "You forgo practice this time and I promise to hook you up with some of the best martial arts trainers in this world or the next. Plus–" he added hopefully, "you don't have to see me embarrass myself."

Niki stopped advancing and let the small smile cross her lips. "Now that _is_ difficult to watch." There was a pause. "Alright. But if I see you about to eat someone, no matter how comically, I won't hesitate to make you food for the dust mites."

"Agreed," Pearce nodded. He looked around for a moment, then retrieved a bar of steel from the broken stool. With shifty eyes, he finally dashed down the alley away from her. When he was a good hundred feet away, and Niki was heading back into the bar, the vampire called out.

"Oh, and Slayer," he shouted, making her turn. "They didn't call me Prince of Pierce for nothing." He whipped the stick of metal so fast it was unseen. The only sign of it was the sound of wrenching metal. Niki raised an impressed eyebrow as she took in the sight of the garbage can not four feet from her. Pierce indeed. The improvised stake had gone clear through both sides of the aluminum can, and the garbage bag within, to stick into the steel dumpster behind. She turned back to the vampire, but the prince was gone.

---

The large wooden crate slid down the rollers towards the freight pickup center. Outside were trucks waiting to carry away the other crates and large packages, but no truck awaited the long box sealed with a padlock.

As movers with trolleys and matching uniforms carried away one crate after another, the long box was ignored.

After several hours, the box was moved to freight holding and slapped with a red sticker – a fine for whoever eventually would pick it up. As soon as it was moved to the warehouse, out of the sunlight streaming through the many windows of the pickup center, a man in a business suit came looking for it. With the customs officer present, he looked over the long wooden crate. "That's not mine," he said at last, shaking his head.

"The number matches your tag," the officer argued.

The man frowned. "It's _not_ what I had loaded in Frankfurt, I don't care what the number says. Your mistake, not mine."

The officer shrugged and turned for the door. The man slid a small key from his sleeve and clicked the padlock open, quickly turning to follow the officer once the shackle was free. Let the war begin.

---

Niki blinked. The message was quite clear. Addison and all his belonging were gone. A number where he could be reached was written on the whiteboard on the fridge. The number was for an apartment in London, England. She was speechless.

"You don't need him," Logan said reasonably. "You never really needed him. He just came with the Slayer package. Like an owners manual in a different language."

"He's gone," she said quietly, as if the words themselves made it true. How could he just leave her? They'd had arguments before. Why was this last one different? "He's... gone," she murmured.

"He wouldn't have gone if he didn't think you could handle yourself on your own." Logan took her by the shoulders and sat her down at the kitchen table. "This is the best thing for you," he advised. "You can do things your own way now: no more arguing over Council procedures."

"He's gone because he's given up." She wasn't listening to a word Logan was saying. Her Watcher had pulled the ultimate rug out from under her – the ultimate argument-ender. He had told her, with the overseas telephone number, that there was nothing the great Watcher's Council, with all its power, could do to salvage her —to find some use for her— after all. It hurt like nothing since her parents had died.

"You're your own Slayer now," Logan said with a proud smile. "No one else's." He squeezed her shoulders, making her look into his eyes. Her eyes were distant and vulnerable. "You're _free_."

She blinked for a moment, then her eyes drifted towards the phone. "I have to call him." But Logan intercepted her.

"Will you stop acting like a child?" He forced her back into the chair. "Yes, daddy's gone — but the house is yours now." He pulled her slightly slouching form straighter. "Act like it."

His annoyed tone dragged her from her insecurities. "Yeah... Right... I never needed him." She blinked away the distance. "I got things done better my way."

"Exactly," Logan smiled. "Now," he grabbed her jacket. "Let's go drinking."

---

Hounding - Act 2

_Six years earlier..._

Niki leaned closer against the ornate wooden railing. The cold brass handle was gripped tightly in her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the coffin's occupant. Lain upon thick silken cushions, the dressed up, made up face of her father seemed to sleep peacefully before the gathered mourners.

Niki had never felt so alone. Her mother lay in an identical coffin across from the girl's father. She too wore the makeup of death. Wore the peaceful expression of death. Niki sniveled. She wasn't concerned about appearing brave before these many black-suited people who she had never met. Her family had always been just the three of them. Even her band had kept their distance from her. None of them had shown up today. That suited her just fine. She didn't want to see them right now. Didn't want them to see her.

Niki Valtaine wore black today, as she did almost every day, her black leather jacket surrounding her like a warm blanket. But the warmth was thin now, easily penetrated by that train wreck of grief which was spread before her in matching coffins.

Then the hand found her shoulder. She looked up and her innocent eyes hardened into a cold glare. Richard Addison. Her new legal guardian. A man of no relation to the family, he had been able to provide documents assuring authorities that her parents had named him Niki's protector if anything should happen to them. Then something had.

Niki wasn't altogether clear what a Watcher was, but he was her's now and he was the only one who could be allowed to know of her sudden great strength. He was the only one who knew about the vampires and the demons. He was the only one now.

The tall British man hugged her shoulders in as cold and impersonal a way as she had ever known. His eyes, old and blue beneath his grey eyebrows, showed none of the sadness of even the most distant relation at this visitation. And he was her's now. And she was his.

---

Niki plunked herself down in the stool next to Logan at the far end of the Biter's bar. Felix smiled his ever-present smile as he made his way towards them behind the bar, cleaning a suspiciously similar glass. "Evening, kids. What's new?"

"Some pomp and circumstance has taken a one way trip across the pond." Logan smiled and reached behind the bar for the brandy. "Her Watcher's finally cut the apron strings."

Felix smiled, despite Niki's sullenness. "Hey, that's great, kid. Time to work without a net." He set the glass down and filled it with Niki's usual. "Here's to working without a net... and being a tight rope walker, not a fisherman."

Niki raised the glass and clinked it with Logan's bottle. But as Logan took a swig, the Slayer just looked into her glass of golden liquid. "Tell me more about the phosphorus."

"Nosphorus," Felix corrected with a grin. "What's to tell?"

Logan frowned. "Everything. I haven't heard this joke before."

Felix leaned in conspiratorially. "Alright, so this vampire goes into a bar, and he orders a cup of hot water..."

Logan frowned. "Oh, wait, I have heard this one." He turned to Niki. "But seriously, what's a Nosphorus?" He glanced from the demon at the bar to the Slayer at his side.

Finally Felix shrugged. "A vampire who has been infected with a demonic plague."

Logan snapped his fingers. "Of course! From Greek Nosferus, plague carrier." The man frowned. "So we've got a sick, Greek vampire? What's he got? Anaemia?"

Felix's grin widened. "Har, har, har." He shook his head and pulled Niki's drink from her hands. "He's got the only disease that the undead can carry. Just called the Plague, it only infects humans, but can only be transmitted by vampires. They spread it between each other and eventually to everyone they bite, through their saliva."

"Like monkeys with ebola," Logan was nodding. "What are the symptoms?"

"For the human sufferers," Felix somehow didn't lose his grin, "hallucinations, blackouts, memory loss, schizophrenia, paranoia... the list goes on. Eventually, a society into which just one Nosphorus has been introduced will collapse completely."

"And in marches the Macedonian army," Niki said sullenly. To her Logan turned a confused expression, but said nothing.

"Except in this case, we're not talking about a Greek city state," Felix smiled. "There would be no possibility of containment, not in today's world. The Plague would spread across–" Felix stopped as a vampire plunked himself down in the stool next to Niki.

Pearce looked at the suspicious faces. "Can't a guy get a drink around here?"

Niki's face constricted into a glare. "What the _hell_ are _you_ doing here?"

"You know him?" Logan said with the tiniest hint of jealousy.

"Prince of Pierce," Pearce stuck out his hand to the man in the brown blazer. The hand was pointedly ignored. "Friends just call me Pearce, though." He retracted his hand as if he had never offered it and turned back to the barkeep. "I'll have what they're having," he said convivially.

Logan slowly leaned in to whisper in Niki's ear, but did so just loud enough for all to hear. "Can I... um..." he made a stabbing gesture.

Niki shook her head, whispering just as indiscreetly. "He's vampirically challenged. It wouldn't be sportsmanlike." Logan nodded, almost in pity.

Pearce, who was doing his best to ignore them, took the drink Felix had made for him and sipped it, making sounds of approval. "You were saying something about a spreading plague?" He looked to the faces of the others. "Might we be talking about our friend the Nosphorus?"

Felix's smile lessened, then strengthened again. "How do you know about that?"

Pearce opened his mouth to answer, somewhat proudly, it seemed, but then stopped himself. He finally frowned. "Well, how to _you_ know about it?"

"I know a man who owns some books," Felix said easily.

"So do I," Pearce answered, with a dismissive shrug. Both agreed without words to leave it at that.

"How far would the plague spread?" Niki asked, watching Felix's hands as he found the small vial of white stuff under the edge of the bar.

"With a plentiful supply of vampires to carry it and a good two day gestation period in the average human..." Felix smiled at the ceiling as he considered the math in his head. "I would say the planet would be ripe for demon conquest in... a little under two months."

Logan expelled a deep breath. "Two _months_?" He shook his head. "Demonic biological warfare."

Niki nodded. "Crafty bastards, aren't they?" She quickly looked up and held up a restraining hand. "Present company excepted." Felix nodded, his smile unwavering.

"Tell them the good bit," Pearce sipped at his drink as Felix uncorked the small vial.

The demon barkeep kept his gaze locked with the vampire for almost an instant too long. He then turned back to the Slayer. "The Nosphorus, like I told you before, looks just like a human until it needs to feed. Then it's ugly beyond all comparison."

"Which should make it easy to find," Logan said comfortingly.

"Except," Felix warned, "the more it feeds, the less ugly it gets." Pearce was nodding as he nursed his drink. "Eventually, once it's drained a good dozen people," he stirred the white powder into the Slayer's drink, "it'll just disappear into the woodwork. Indistinguishable from any other vampire."

"And _then_ we'll have a problem," Logan rolled his eyes. "We can't kill every vampire everywhere."

"Well, if you wait-" Felix glanced at the ceiling to think for an instant, "-a little under two months, you won't have to. The Nosphorus is in town as we speak."

"He's here _now?_" Logan stood from his stool, looking now over at Pearce with a great deal of suspicion.

"Arrived on a plane just this afternoon," Felix corked the vial and replaced it out of sight. Niki took a long pull from her glass, feeling the blood lust begin the course through her again. "Of course he could be anywhere by now."

"I know some places we could look," Pearce said hopefully. They glared at him. His eyes widened. "Hey, I've been here since last night, the Slayer will vouch for that."

Niki grudgingly nodded. "We might as well go. We'll check out the airport later, I really need to kill something right now." She finished her drink and stood. As the three were about to leave the bar, Logan stopped them.

"Felix," he asked, making the bartender look up. "Is there a cure for this plague? A cure for the humans infected with it?"

Felix's smile widened farther than ever. "Three days of unspeakable agony."

Logan's gaze fell. "Naturally."

---

Hounding - Act 3

Niki ducked low as the vamp's fist came at her. She jabbed its ribs and as it reeled off balance, she spun around behind it and drove the stake through its shoulder blade. It hissed as it became dust, but Niki had already moved on.

"Well," she said, shouldering a charging pair of vampires, "they're all vamped out, but none look uglier than usual." She knocked one of the pair back with a fist to the teeth and the other she impaled on the stake.

Pearce swung a wooden beam with a _whoosh_ through the air at a vamp's head, but missing sent him staggering forward. He was instantly tackled by the vampire he missed and the two wrestled to the warehouse floor. With a powerful, two-legged kick, he sent the vampire sprawling backwards. As the vamp came diving back down, he found himself run through with a fence post.

Logan wasn't having as much luck. He continued to take a beating from a group of three vamps and some more gathered around to watch. Niki tried to make her way over to him, but the vamps continued to keep her occupied.

Finally, as Logan collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from above his right eye, Pearce managed to break into the circle. With a warbling cry of havoc, he dramatically drove his fence post through the chest of one vamp and his fist through the jaw of another before he too was taken to the ground.

Logan managed to pull himself to his knees and tore one vamp's legs out from under him, pinning him quickly through the chest with his stake. An instant later, Logan felt rough hands on his shoulders and he looked up to receive an elbow to the face. He barely had time to blink, however, before the dust of the same vampire rained down over his bloodied face. Niki smiled down at him.

"You need to learn how to fight," she said grinning, helping him to his feet. Without the slightest change in her expression, she turned and dusted the last vamp who had tried to sneak up behind her. "Either that or..." she paused for a moment then shrugged. "No, really just that."

Pearce groaned and lifted himself from the pile of splintered skids where he had landed, fortunately unpierced. "I could teach you both how to fight," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

Logan looked supremely skeptical. "You weren't doing so well yourself," he scoffed. "I have an excuse: I'm a mere human. You're a vampire. Why was half the shit here kicked out of _you_?"

"For your information," Pearce said stubbornly. "I can fight better than either of you. I'm just not permitted to."

"What was the battle cry?" Niki smirked. "Sounded like a bull castration gone wrong."

The vampire held up a finger. "I have found that the less frightening my attack, the better chance it will succeed. I can sort of work around the curse."

Logan nodded sarcastically. "Sure, chalk it up to the curse. You just can't admit that you suck."

Pearce raised an eyebrow as the three left the warehouse. "...Says the human punching bag." Logan scowled. "Really, in my glory days I could have taken out all those creeps on my own." He shrugged. "Not that I would have. They would have been my crew and I'd be eating a lawyer or two right now." He gave Logan a smirk.

"So you try to make your attacks... funny?" Niki was shaking her head. "Maybe I should try that. If your enemy is convulsed in laughter, it's pretty easy to stake them." The three moved down the dark alley and out onto the street.

Pearce grinned. "Remind me sometime to show you the move I call 'The Happy-Time Parade.'"

---

Niki and Logan strolled into her apartment and gave the door a gentle nudge that it would close. With a thump, Pearce held it and waited at the threshold.

Niki frowned, no longer amused. "Um... what do you want now?"

Pearce looked about, innocently. "Nice place. Mind if I crash here?"

Logan looked to Niki, sharing her skepticism. "Yeah, I kinda do mind," the Slayer answered. "My apartment, no invites. I know how this works."

"Oh, come on, we're a team now," Pearce put on a terribly unconvincing smile. "We fight evil together. Let me in, come on." His smile soon began to fade. This wasn't going to work if she didn't trust him — didn't let him in.

Logan stood and moved to the door, his hand on his bleeding eyebrow. He took the door and closed it firmly in Pearce's face. "Good night," he said politely once the lock was in place.

"_Come on_," came the vampire's voice from the other side of the door. "_We have to go check the airport_."

"Tomorrow," Niki said from the kitchen, loud enough for the vamp to hear. Logan joined her and she dabbed a damp cloth over his eye. "We have wounds to lick." She glanced down at the man in the chair before her and offered a mischievous grin. "Among other things."

"_Where the hell am I supposed to stay until then?_" Pearce demanded, annoyed.

"You're free to sleep in the hall," Niki said smiling. "No one lives there." There were mutters and curses from the hall which neither Niki nor Logan could interpret.

As the bleeding stopped, Niki found her hand running down Logan's cheek and soon they were in each others arms, she straddling him on the chair. Then she was up on her back on the table, something or other clattering to the floor.

Pearce listened outside in the hall as the two lovers found their way around the small apartment. The vampire sighed dejectedly. He needed to eat someone. He hadn't eaten since before the incident with Vince.

Soon he was wandering the dark streets of a mostly sleeping New York City. You could never truly escape the lights where they were, but there was nothing more abundant than shadows.

The vampire found his way to a secluded doorway where a man and a young child were huddled. The child wore a bright yellow raincoat, as it had been raining earlier that evening, and the other had a dark black poncho with a wide brimmed black Sou'wester obscuring his face. Appropriately, perhaps, thunder rumbled, promising more rain.

As Pearce approached, his vampire instincts told him what was at hand. The man was no man but a vampire himself — a loner, just trying to survive. The child was his late night snack, snatched from a playground or schoolyard most likely.

As of yet, the child was unaware of how great a peril he was in. The two figures simply stood, as if waiting for Pearce to arrive. Pearce, never passing up a good thing, especially in these hard times, took the child's arm, as if it had been offered. There were already bite marks on his neck and the child, no more than eight, stared up at Pearce with wide eyed wonder.

"I saved some for you," the vamp said with a husky, Irish voice, like a pirate. "He tastes of too many sweets and cakes. A wonder he can't fly."

Pearce nodded, too entranced with the idea of feeding to care about any of this. "A wonder," he agreed, lowering his head to the child's neck. "And thank you," he managed to say before his teeth sank into the boy's flesh. There was a heart beat or two (the boy's) during which Pearce could hear the child's whimper of pain, then the rush of pleasure and satisfaction overcame his thoughts as the blood gushed down his throat. Eventually, and it always seemed like too soon, the body grew limp and Pearce lowered it gently to the ground.

The ran began to fall, pattering over the child's plastic raincoat and the hat of the dark figure. Pearce blinked. Something was... It wasn't... And then he blacked out.

---

Hounding - Act 4

_Four years earlier..._

Niki sank sullenly into the chair at the kitchen table. No one could deny... that was wicked. Well — almost no one. She said as much.

"_Wicked_?" Addison nearly bellowed. "You endangered countless innocent lives, not to mention your own, and exposed this operation to the public eye!"

"But, did you see when I dusted him with the drumstick?" She smirked inwardly. "That was so totally awesome."

Her Watcher fumed. Naturally, he wouldn't see the absolute poetry of slaying vamps _while_ performing on stage. Not that she had planned it, but when the stage crashers had jumped up to enjoy themselves, some of the undead had joined them. Luckily they could put their disappearance down as faulty pyrotechnics. It was also lucky that Niki sharpened the ends of her drumsticks.

"If we were in London, you would be under house arrest," the Brit said angrily. "But that won't work here, will it?"

"This isn't a mansion, Colonel Addison, you can't lock me up for three weeks like some wayward princess." She stood and strolled to the fridge which she opened. There was a carton of two week old milk and a plate of something fuzzy and three cans of beer. "A slayer's gotta eat."

"I realize that," Addison grumbled. "So I've decided on a better method of punishing you."

"Public flogging?" Niki raised an eyebrow. "Thumbscrews?"

"I've canceled your band's contracts with all their future sponsors. Toe Tag City is finished." Addison crossed his arms and let the satisfaction show on his face.

Niki's eyes grew wider. "You've _canceled_ our gigs?" she demanded. "What– You don't have the power to do that!"

Addison shrugged, his white eyebrows knitting together. "The Council has significant influence, even in such... menial matters as lowbrow entertainment." He sat down tiredly on the chair Niki had vacated. "I _can_ and I _have_ ended your musical career. It has obviously been detracting from your duty as a Slayer. Now you're free to concentrate on what really matters."

Niki's fists were balled tight, her knuckles white. She had visions of pounding his head into the floor... of sending him in a body bag across the Atlantic to the meddling Council. _He just wasn't working out..._ the note would say. Then she sighed, closed her eyes and counted to three in her head. Upon opening her eyes, she found the annoying man was still sitting in the chair, looking very self-satisfied.

Niki tossed her head to get the hair from her face and turned briskly for the door. "I will never forget this," she said articulately. "_Never_," and she opened the door, grabbing her jacket.

"That is the primary role of punitive action," Addison agreed smugly. "Let us hope your skills as a Slayer improve. Meanwhile, stay away from the band members. They may not be too happy with you any longer."

Niki ground her teeth and slammed the door as hard as she could. Like hell she'd stay away. He couldn't keep her from hammering away her anger with some pointed sticks – in that way vampires were much like snare drums, though the drums seldom fought back.

---

Niki Valtaine moved across the wet pavement in the sunlight of the early morning. Where was Toe Tag City now, she wondered. Permanent residents of the Where Are They Now file. They had stayed with her after her parents had died. That had been more than she had expected. They had been as friendly as she had let them. She had lost her virginity to the lead guitarist. She smiled. Such fond memories. But they had never forgiven her for getting their band blacklisted.

She splashed through a shallow puddle as the shrill keen of a jet engine turned into a roar as it took off not far away. Coming to the old chain link fence, she leapt over and found herself in the small, paved yard outside of the freight storage warehouse. Any incoming coffins would end up here. Any vampire with any sense would nest here: dark, seldom used, occasional walk-in snacks...

With the sound of stressed steel, the door gave way to her boot and she entered the darkness. She kept low, keeping to one wall so as not to lose her bearings while her eyes adjusted. Finally, as the forms of crates and skids began to solidify before her eyes, she was able to begin searching for what she knew she might not even find.

She passed row after row of skids and stacks of crates and plastic-wrapped, red-tagged baggage before she finally neared the exit which led to the terminal, at the far end of the warehouse. Near the door were the recent additions to the dusty collection, including a long wooden box.

Niki slowed her pace as she approached it, knowing immediately it was the object of her search. The wooden box sat crooked with respect to the rows and the walls, as indeed someone had climbed out of it. The lid for the box was laying in several splintered pieces across the floor and the packing paper was scattered about as well.

Fully knowing the silliness of what she was doing, Niki reached down and took hold of a long, pointed splinter of wood, quieting her footsteps as she neared the box. Inside was more packing paper surrounding a dull, steel coffin. Chains were strewn about the packing paper and the lid of the coffin lay across the opening, partially obscuring its interior.

Niki shook her head. _This is ridiculous_, she mused. Then cocked her head. _Still..._ She reached out, her stake raised, and slid aside the lid with one good shove. Of course, the coffin was empty.

Niki let out a yelp of surprise as the terminal door flew open, artificial light pouring in. She pressed a hand to her chest to calm her breathing, shaking her head in amusement. Since when was she so jumpy?

"He's not here," Pearce said matter-of-factly.

"I can _see_ that," Niki answered with irritation, born partly from her effort to slow her racing heart. Stuff had been having that effect on her recently. Coming around the coffin, she frowned. "Were you following me?"

Pearce shrugged. "I was just about to call it a day and find a nice damp _sewer_ to sleep in, when I thought I'd stop by the airport and see if I could dig anything up."

Niki looked at him for a long moment. "It's a twenty five minute drive from my apartment. You just thought you'd _stop_ _by_?"

Pearce looked uncomfortable. "He's not here. You should go home and I'll sleep here today... you know: To keep an eye on things in case he comes back."

Niki thought for a moment, considering his uneasy silhouette. "Do what you like," she finally shrugged and moved back through the warehouse the way she had come.

The vampire entered and, finding the coffin suitable, if perhaps a little kinky, he settled himself inside it for the day. As her footsteps began to recede, he sat up and called out into the darkness. "I'll keep an eye out, you can count on it," he said encouragingly. Her footsteps stopped for an instant, then continued on. Pearce lay back into the coffin and slid the lid into place. "It's what I do," he said quietly.


	3. Nosphorus: Part I

Nosphorus: Part I - Act 1

_Amphipolis, Greece, 357 B.C.E._

General Melitus raced up the steps to the infirmary. If this was what he feared, then all of Athens was in jeopardy. The phalanx was still assembling outside the city and was vulnerable to this sort of attack. The entire populace was vulnerable to it.

Melitus brushed past the two soldiers standing guard at the entrance. As he padded quickly down the broad corridor, lit now only by torchlight, he adjusted his cloak. Titus would be here, and Melias too. How long had the nosferus been in the city? Days? Gods forbid... weeks?

Melias met him at the door, stopping the General with a soft hand. Melitus glanced down at the bronze attire worn by Melias and the others in the room. The gauntlet on each hand and collar which extended up from their lamellar armor made them appear as some sort of super soldier from an extremely tired army. But Melitus knew the purpose. Fangs could not pierce bronze.

"Where is it?" Melitus asked, sliding on a pair of gauntlets offered to him by the physician.

"The afflicted are in treatment..." the old man's eyes darted to the left door from which came the most distant, yet terrible moans. "The carrier is there," and he pointed to the center door. No sound came from within.

Melitus declined the collar and instead drew his sword. As light as the day was, the physicians had wisely waited for the General before allowing this nosferus to be destroyed. There were some questions that needed answering. Melitus marched through the center doorway and into the torch-lit holding chamber.

"A visitor," the Macedonian smiled. "And here I was led to believe Athenians were heartless killers." The creature came from the shadows and smiled a broad, hideous smile. His features were long and rat-like, a hooked nose and long, almost bat-like ears. His teeth were cruelly pointed and outwardly jutting. His voice, a wet hiss, was a mockery of human speech. "Have you come to sing me a song in my prison?"

The General lifted his sword tip menacingly. "Control your tongue, barbarian, or I'll cut it out and feed it to the rats."

The Macedonian laughed wickedly. "And I am a rat, aren't I? A vermin to be sent into your city before battle... to cleanse you of your weak and elderly. To drink my fill and watch them fall to their knees before me. Before a rat."

"Before I remove your head, rat," Melitus said angrily, "there is one thing I would know."

"To have my head is a great feat," the creature said with a smile. "The mighty General of Athens... known for his great victory against the trapped and helpless rats of Macedon."

"Then you do come from the North," Melitus said sourly. "You come from Philip."

"And he comes back to rescue me," the creature said happily, "what wouldn't one do for his own brother?" As he spoke, the carrier's features changed into that of a young dark haired man, looking very confused and scared.

The General's eyes widened. Before Persus could open his mouth, Melitus pulled on the cord hanging from the ceiling, opening the oculus in the ceiling to fill the room with sunlight.

Behind the thick iron bars of the infirmary's quarantine chamber, Persus, prince of Macedon, exploded into dust and ashes.

Melitus sheathed his sword, stepping out of the now brightly lit room into the infirmary proper. Turning directly right, he entered the left door to the patients therein. The sight sickened him. Whichever Macedonian sorcerers had invented such a cruel and barbaric disease to begin with had not lacked enough imagination to outdo themselves with the cure. Those sorcerers, when caught, would most certainly be burned to cinders. That is, if Athens survived the next twelve hours.

---

Niki ducked the swing and laughed. "All I'm asking," she twisted to avoid a kick and threw a punch, but missed, "is if you've seen any new faces–" her head snapped back as she caught a fist in the face, "–in town." She ploughed her forehead into the vamp's face, sending him stumbling back. The Slayer sighed. "Simple Q and A."

The vampire snarled and charged, his attack met force with force as the two locked shoulders with arms and struggled in an awkward dance to no particular beat. The vamp tried to get enough leverage to toss the smaller, lighter Slayer, but her attempts to throw him kept them in a deadlock.

"I just want to know," she growled, her arms beginning to hurt from the uncustomary workout. "Newbies? Neophytes? Nosphorus...es?" She frowned as she drove her knee into his stomach. He fell to the ground and she drove the other knee into his jaw. "Nosphori?" He hissed as she drew her stake and poised it above him, her other hand on his shoulder. "Nosphorae?" The vamp took her momentary distraction to drive his fist into her shin, making her hop backwards on one leg. Her face contorted in pain and she dropped her stake. "Ow! You dick!"

The vamp jumped to his feet and laughed. "Yeah, there's a sicky in town, but he hasn't gotten to me yet," he indicated his normal-looking game face. "And I wouldn't want him to. Who'd want to be slaves to the Creep?"

Niki's frown deepened. "The Creep?"

The vamp let out a snarl. "No more talk. Time to taste your heart, Slayer." And he lunged.

Still wearing her frown, she sidestepped his lunge and took out his legs, snatching her stake from the filthy ground to drive it forward just as he made a second leap for her. With wide eyes, he dissolved with a hiss into ashes.

"The Creep?" She muttered, absently rubbing her shin. "I think we had a song about that."

---

"The Creep," Felix nodded, sliding Niki a cold beer for once. "The Man. Big Brother." He nodded as he took the cash left on the bar by a Cherr'Yl demon who left hurriedly upon seeing the Slayer enter. "He's a myth. The ever-present 'Boogeyman' to the underworld. If a newly hatched Gornatch does something wrong, one of its six parents will say 'watch out or the Creep will get you.'" Felix's smile changed motives. "He's like... Communism."

"And this Creep sent the Nosphorus?" Niki took a sip of her beer and let the novel taste swirl around in her mouth. It wasn't Stuff, but it wasn't bad.

Felix raised an amused eyebrow. "The Creep? No." He kept his sardonic, condescending smile as he stuffed the cash under the bar. "The Creep isn't real. He's like the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny."

"Or Santa Claus," Niki nodded.

To this Felix did a double take. "Huh? What's that about? Santa's real. Where are you getting your information?"

Niki ignored this and took another swig of beer. "Well someone seems to think the Nosphor... Nosphori serve this Creep."

"It's already plural," Felix corrected with a smile. "Like moose."

"So you're saying," Niki said with a frown, "there's _no way_ someone or something which might have been the originator of the Creep myth could have sent the... sicky?"

Felix held up a finger. "All I'm saying is that it's just as likely that Tinkerbell sent it."

Niki took on a curious look. "And she's real, I suppose."

Felix's grin never wavered. "Just as real as Peter Pain."

Niki sipped her beer absently. "Pan," she corrected.

"Sure." Felix's smile became patronizing but Niki ignored him. "Anyway, if whatever sent the Nosphorus to New York wanted panic, he's got it. Demons are staying away from vampires, vampires are becoming more and more isolated, rival gangs killing each other less and less in order to avoid possible contamination, while members of the same gangs are killing each other in paranoia. It's chaos."

"You sound concerned," Niki said distantly. "You've got too much business invested in them. Demons would be the only ones safe from the Plague, wouldn't they? Can't catch it from vamps, aren't afraid of humans."

"They're not afraid of getting sick," Felix grin turned to a distant smile of regret. "They're worried that whatever is going to purge the Earth of humans isn't preparing the way for their kind... but for something worse."

Niki glanced around the establishment skeptically. "Worse than... El Tootho over there?" She indicated the matador with the vicious fangs sitting in the corner. "Or Boris?" The large bull-like creature snorted at her glance as it sipped its drink across from the matador.

"Much worse," Felix confirmed. "Pure bloods. The Terrible Ones, maybe, or worse even." Felix's eyes flitted to the door as it opened and the Nail Biter collectively held its breath. It was no understatement that the whole underworld was on edge.

Pearce shrugged innocently. "_What?_" The sigh was audible. The vampire strolled into the bar and took a seat just as Niki stood. "Where you off to?" he asked, almost offended.

The Slayer's frown conveyed the contempt and annoyance she held pent up for the Little Vampire That Couldn't. "Unlike vampires... most humans actually _sleep_ at night."

Pearce shrugged, indicating a bottle on the shelf behind Felix. "Suit yourself." And he settled down to drink.

Niki strolled out in disgust. This Pearce was becoming quite annoying. She didn't need any vampires hanging around, scaring off her contacts, not in times like these. Besides, she thought as she moved down the damp street, he was always _following_ her. She frowned. It was kind of... creepy.

---

Nosphorus: Part I - Act 2

"So you know a guy... who knows a guy... who has a friend who has some books?" Pearce nodded his head cynically. "And that's how you know all this stuff... about the Nosphorus and junk like that?" The vampire swallowed the shot and set the tiny glass back on the bar. "I have a hard time believing that."

Felix shrugged nonchalantly. "It's my business what you drink, not what you believe." He filled the shot glass again for the vampire. "But just so you know — I know the friend directly. She's... into that sort of thing."

"Sure," Pearce nodded. "Maybe she's into creating sick vampires and sending them against humanity." He emptied the shot and slammed it back on the bar. Somehow, Felix retained his smile, though there was very little amusing him at the moment.

"And yet you seem to know as much about what's going on as I do," the barkeep countered politely. "We wouldn't, perhaps, have a friend in common, would we?"

Pearce sneered and pointed to his empty glass. "Not likely." And the glass was filled. "My friend wouldn't deal with the likes of you." And the glass was empty. Felix raised an eyebrow at the insult and after a pointed moment of hesitation, refilled the shot glass.

"And yet he deals with you?" The barkeep asked, screwing the cap tight on the bottle. As Pearce emptied the glass, his silver bracelet fell free from his cuff and clinked to the bar top against the shot glass. Felix raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I see. Your friend is a Watcher."

"And your friend is a Seer," the vampire smiled. "How quaint." Felix spread his hands amicably.

"In the end, I would rather have a friend who sees than one who merely watches." The barkeep's expression was startled for a moment as the vampire snatched the bottle from his hands and unscrewed the top. He refilled his glass, spilling some on the bar.

"But this makes me special," he shook the bracelet in Felix's face. He was a little groggy now as he emptied the shot. "It makes me better than _just_ a vampire. I'm like..." his eyes searched around the room, looking for clarity. "Like... like a prince again. I'm a prince with this th- thing on." He gazed at the silver chain for a hazy moment, then looked up to see Felix ginning at him. The vampire didn't like the grin so he shook the bracelet in the barkeep's face again. "I. X. I. That's what it says. Ixi." He refilled the glass, nearly missing completely this time, and drained it with a sputtering gasp.

"Do you know what it means?" Felix slowly pulled the bottle towards him and slipped the cap back on. "Why it will protect you?"

Pearce shrugged. "Because the man said it would."

Felix's smile became one of pity. "You're a sad, lost, little vampire, aren't you?" He took the bottle out of sight and began to wipe up the mess on the bar. "Looking for anyone who will give you back what was stolen. You know there's not a day goes by that I don't hear some story whispered in the back corners of the Prince of Pierce and how he used to make the underworld proud."

Pearce grimaced. "I'm jus' fuckin' fine," he slurred, "An' I'm still the goddam Prince."

"You're drunk," Felix argued. "And you're pathetic. The Little Vampire That Couldn't."

"Shuh-the-fuckup," Pearce rose uneasily to his feet and seized the barkeep by the shirt. "Maybe I'm a _funny_ drunk... an' then I can kick the crap out of you." He swayed slightly and Felix pulled the vamp's hands off his shirt. "I'll do the happy-time parade... n' then you'll be sorry."

"Sit down," Felix warned. "No, on second thought, go home."

Pearce slumped onto his stool. "I'll leave when I fuckin' well please." He rose again to his feet and pointed a finger at the barkeep's chest. "I don't take orders from pansy waiter-boys."

"And I don't have to serve 'pansy' Watcher's pets." Felix turned and took a step towards the door leading to the back room. "Hey, Diego," he called. "We got an un-deadbeat out here and he—" Felix fell to his knees as the bottle smashed over his head.

Pearce looked down with a newly reclaimed sobriety in his eyes; a clarity that was not his own. His face was unchanged, but his attitude was all business. He took the serrated neck of the bottle and brought it down hard into the back of Felix's skull with a crunching sound.

The demon's eyes rolled back and he fell forward onto his face. By the time Diego lumbered out to see what was the commotion, Pearce had vanished.

---

The Nosphorus lifted the brim of his broad Sou'wester to reveal his rat-like features. He was more than simply rat-like, however. He was all vile Rodentia and despised vermin... all disease carrying nocturnal creature that hungers only for weaker flesh. Flesh to corrupt. He was nosferus.

His large bat-like ears began to shrink, however, as the blood filled his mouth. The old woman tasted of cigarettes and cancer. Death was all around her. As his ears became more and more human in appearance, he could feel his nose become smaller as well. Still inhuman, as a vampire's was, but the vermin in his blood was diluted ever more with the blood he drank; as the plague he carried passed from him to his victims.

He stayed by the corpse many hours after she was dead. Many hours still before she would rise again. He liked the smell of death. It was comforting. It was like his own smell. Eventually, however, his features reverted back to the form of a man. An Irishman. Finding himself near the dead body of an old woman, he soon wandered off into the darkness, looking for a place to nest before sunrise.

---

The little boy screamed.

Niki charged into battle, dusting the first vamp with a thrown stake at fifteen feet. The second hit the ground after an encounter with her fist. Logan embedded his axe in the third's chest, sending him staggering back in agony.

Niki was down on the ground sending a stake through her vamp's chest before he could recover, and Logan pulled the axe free to swing it neatly through the vamp's neck, causing him to explode into dust.

The Slayer sighed, brushing the ash from her pants. She was just about to comment on their improved battle skills when she noticed the little boy, cowering near a garbage can. A fourth vamp leered down at him, reaching out as if to embrace him. The little boy tucked himself further into his yellow raincoat and whimpered.

Logan raised his axe to throw, his hand hesitating, unsure of his own accuracy at that distance, and Niki placed a restraining hand on his arm, shaking her head. The vampire laughed wickedly as he pulled the child from his fetal position and held him as a shield. He began to walk backwards into the darkness of the alley, his arm around the boy's neck, threateningly, daring either to follow him.

Niki's jaw ached from clenching it so tight as she stood her ground, her hand holding Logan back. They watched, helplessly as the vamp disappeared into the shadows of the back of the alley. After half a moment there was a high pitched scream. But it wasn't the boy's.

Niki and Logan watched in amazement as the boy strode triumphantly out of the shadows, brushing the dust from his yellow raincoat. His eyes were pure white, his pupils nothing but tiny dots. He stopped a half dozen paced from the pair and smiled a broad toothy smile. Then he charged.

---

Nosphorus: Part I - Act 3

Niki caught the child as he launched himself at her, his face twisting and gnashing as though he were a feral animal. She tumbled to the ground with the little yellow raincoat-wearing animal in her arms.

No sooner had she hit the ground than Logan scooped the child up and tossed him a good ten feet from the two of them. Impossibly, the child landed on his feet and turned viciously around to snarl at them, his eyes white and bloodshot now. He opened his small mouth a hissed, showing his tiny child-teeth.

Logan made a feint towards him, raising his arms and shouting as he might to a dog or bear. The child's eyes suddenly cleared and he ran crying into the darkness. A light rain began to fall.

Niki got to her feet with a helping hand from her lover. "What the _hell_ was that?" she demanded, brushing the dirt from her pants and shaking her jacket. "Were we here to save the kid or the vamps?"

"It looks like the kid had everything under control," Logan agreed, pulled the collar higher on his neck in light of the rain. "I think we've just had our first encounter with a sufferer of the vampire plague."

"Should we try and capture him?" Niki started into the darkness after the child but Logan stopped her.

"We'll never find him tonight," he sounded very much to Niki like he was trying to excuse his reluctance to go chasing the creature, but he continued without a break in logic. "And we wouldn't know what to do with him even if we did. Until we do... it's obvious he can take care of himself." Niki finally nodded.

"The least we can do is talk to Felix," she said with resignation. "He seems to know a lot about this plague, and he mentioned the cure."

Logan face was slightly marred by a distant frown. "This isn't about Stuff, is it?" The two walked together in the direction of the Nail Biter. "I don't like you using it. It's playing hell with your nerves."

"It keeps me awake and alert on long night patrols," she said dismissively. "It's no more addictive than caffeine, and no more harmful."

"Some demons secrete it as a nerve toxin," Logan countered angrily. "Don't, for an instant, make the mistake of thinking I'm an idiot."

Niki was silent for a long moment as they slowly drew near the unlit stairwell which led down to the Biter. At the top of the stairs the two of them stopped and she turned to him with her usual sullen expression. "This isn't about Stuff. I only use it when I need it. I didn't use tonight and I didn't need tonight. It's that simple."

Logan placed a gentle hand on the side of her cheek. Her sullen eyes fell into his. "It's scary when it's that simple," he said quietly. Soon they were at the bottom of the stairs and through the door to the Nail Biter.

There was a sigh of relief from those in the bar as they saw it was only the Slayer and her sidekick, not some vampire foaming at the mouth. Nonetheless, several clientele quickly slipped past them and bustled up the stairs.

Diego was waiting behind the bar, none too pleased. There was a head on the bar. Not the glass kind that the establishment sometimes displayed which was full of pickled eggs... this was the smiling head of the barkeep who had served the Slayer a beer just a few hours ago.

Niki and Logan's eyes widened. Even in death Felix wore a smile, though it was now a gruesomely cynical, gallows smile as the severed head sat between the taps at the far end of the bar. Diego took in a deep nasal breath to begin berating the pair on their inability to protect his employees, but Niki and Logan were already on their way out.

Someone had killed Felix because he knew too much about the Nosphorus and his plan. And now they had no idea how to deal with this threat that seemed two steps ahead of them. They needed support. They needed... him.

---

Niki lifted the receiver and began punching in the numbers for the apartment in London. Considering the time in New York, it should be a reasonable hour in England.

As she had expected, though some part of her mind had secretly reserved hope against, he wasn't at home and she left a message. The sooner he got it the better. Little by little, the city was being overrun by human-vampire hybrids and there was only one way to cure them — now lost with the death of their underworld contact.

Niki exhaled. Things had gotten too far out of control. She had let them get this way. They shouldn't have waited to find the new arrival. They should have... _she_ should have found it and killed it before that boy had woken up this morning. _She_ should have pumped Felix for information while he was still alive: learning everything there was to know about the plague and it's cure. But now the creature was gone without a trace she could follow and so was her flow of information. She had been lazy.

"Can't handle life on your own?" came a patronizing voice from the door. Niki whipped her head around to see Pearce standing just in the hallway. "Calling for daddy when he's only just unpacked?"

Logan strode angrily to the door and slammed it in the vampire's face. When he got back to Niki, she had covered the distant, pondering look she often got when consumed with self depreciation and replaced it with a look of utter annoyance.

"Tell me again why we don't just stake him?" the Slayer said harshly, slamming the receiver back on the phone.

"I thought you were here to tell _me_ why," Logan shrugged. "We'll try calling again later. Maybe we can catch him at tea time."

"_Don't bother calling him,_" Pearce called from the hallway. "_I already did. He's on his way._"

---

Richard Addison ran his fingers through the white hair behind his receding hairline. His seatbelt was already buckled by the time the tiny light came on indicating they were beginning final descent. Procedures were in place for a reason. He was no more inclined to ignore this plane captain's procedures than he was the Council's. Perhaps Niki was now coming to realize just how much she depended on him. On the Council. Perhaps Pearce would no longer be needed. Just perhaps...

He felt the slight jolt as the tires hit the tarmac and the nearly imperceptible screech as the brakes kicked in. Soon he would be settled back in that awful little apartment, again trying to train that wretched little brat — who hopefully now would be a little more open to his wisdom.

The sun had just set in New York City. Addison glanced at his watch as he walked through the terminal and spun the crown to the correct time. It would take him a few days before the jet lag–

"Excuse me," he said apologetically as he disentangled himself from the figure with whom he had just collided. An old woman he had at first assumed, but now as the figure turned his face to the Watcher, Addison could see it was clearly no such thing.

The disentangling became a scuffle of arms and sleeves and Addison's carry-on luggage and soon the two were shuffled out of the main stream of foot traffic to a secluded corner near the men's washroom.

Addison quickly freed his arms from the black poncho and as he did so surreptitiously knocked the creature's concealing hat from its head, immediately backing up several paces.

The Nosphorus hissed as it produced a hand from one fold of the poncho to cover its slightly inhuman features. Between splayed fingers its eyes darted back and forth among the passing people, assessing possible threats. Addison merely stared in dutiful silence.

The Watcher's hand strayed into his suit coat's inner pocket and retrieved the short, standard issue stake. The trick would be to dust this creature without making a scene. He looked about himself as the dark figure cowered lower into the shadows of the corner, farther out of sight of the passing crowds.

Addison felt through his pockets and retrieved four American one hundred dollar bills, crumpling them loosely into balls. He then let them fall inconspicuously between the scuffling feet of the travelers, backing away towards the frightened vamp.

It took less than six seconds for someone to notice the first bill, then three more people stopped, and soon everyone's attention was directed at the floor to where some unlucky traveler had apparently dropped several hundred dollars.

Addison grinned. _Huzzah for capitalism_ he thought wryly. The grin was still on his face as he turned around to finish the vamp, but it dropped away as a strong hand found his throat, closing off his windpipe.

"Thank you," said an Irish accent. "Now no one will see." The elderly Watcher gave one desperate thrash against his captor before he was dragged through the doorway into the men's washroom.

As the blood filled his mouth and warmed his throat, the Nosphorus felt with a tingling sensation the inhuman features drop away. He was fully human now, in appearance at least. Only other vampires would know him for what he was, and then it would be too late for them. Too late for everyone. He let the body sag to the floor of the stall, the pale cheek coming to rest on the toilet seat.

The Nosphorus wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Now that concealment was no longer a problem, it was time to get down to business.

---

Nosphorus: Part I - Act 4

Niki awoke in the darkness. Logan was gone. He always left in order to be with his wife when she woke up. To preserve the illusion that they had a happy marriage. Niki shook her head and shivered. He had left the window open.

She stood, wrapping the sheet around her naked form, and moved to the window, sliding it closed. Looking down the nine stories to the waking city below made her feel almost godlike. The tiny creatures who scurried around below had no idea what lurked behind every shadow — what hungered for their very blood at night. What had most likely fed on that blood only hours ago.

And she was their protector. Supposed protector. Theoretical protector. She let the joke fill her until she laughed. What was a 'supposed' god? What was a 'theoretical' god? To be able to protect and still to ignore them. To know their enemies, even when they didn't, and still to do nothing. That was a special kind of evil. Just as she was a special kind of Slayer.

The phone rang and she jerked out of her contemplations. The window frame resolved itself around her view of the world and she was back in her apartment – just a girl. The phone rang again. As she picked it up, she knew Addison had been right – at least in part. A Slayer without a Watcher could be a dangerous thing.

"Yeah?" She asked as the receiver pressed against her ear. Her drifting eyes found focus and recognition as the voice on the other end spoke. "Yes. A- alright. Thanks." Her eyes searched the room with some worry as the voice continued in an unusually calm tone. "Why can't you just come to the apartment?" She waited as the voice on the other end was silent. Finally it repeated the meeting place and she sighed. "Alright, I'll meet you there in an hour. Oh – and Addison, I owe you one." The receiver found the telephone base with a click.

Showered and dressed, Niki opened the door and nearly jumped out of her skin as Pearce smiled back at her. "Dammit Pearce! Get lost!"

The vampire kept his slightly lewd grin. "Where am I suppose to go? I haven't been invited into your fortress and it's morning out there — so the hallway's my humble home now."

Niki glanced at her watch. "It's only quarter to six: The sun isn't up yet. Get lost." She started down the hallway only to have the vampire follow her. She glanced back with irritation. "Stop following me! You're creeping me out!"

"Then why don't you just stake me?" Pearce smiled as she zigzagged down the hallway, heading for the elevator. He tracked her almost comically. "I'll tell you why:" he caught her by the arm and turned her roughly to face him as they reached the elevator. "Because I'm adorable!"

Her uppercut was so unexpected that it sent him flying backwards off his feet. He landed on his back, immediately raising himself on his elbows to massage his jaw. "Ow!"

"Get lost," she said dangerously. She hit the key to bring the elevator to her floor, but never took her glaring eyes from the vampire.

Pearce slowly got to his feet, still rubbing his jaw. "For the record, if I didn't have better things to do, I would totally go Happy-Time Parade on your ass."

"We had a truce," Niki said angrily, "but you've proved useless. I don't want you hanging around being worse than useless – so piss off or I _will_ dust you."

Pearce brushed his KISS shirt free of dirt from the floor in a dramatic manner. "Useless eh? We'll see how useless I am when you find I'm the only one between you and total biological catastrophe. When the Vamp Who Ate New York comes knocking on your door with his entire smorgasbord backing him up, we'll see how useless I am." The vamp turned and stormed to the stairs at the other end of the hallway. "_Useless_!" he muttered incredulously.

Niki shook her head with exasperation and stepped into the elevator. There were three people in it. One got off on the ninth floor after she had gotten on, the other two waited for her to press G and then the doors closed. Quite the characters in this building, she thought: A Slayer; a crazed, impotent vampire; an Irishman in a poncho and muttonchops; and some chick with absolutely no concept of 'lather, rinse, repeat.'

---

Addison glanced at his watch. It was six thirty. Niki had said an hour —forty five minutes ago— but she would be fashionably late, as usual. He knew there was no way she had changed that much. He glanced at his coffee. This place wasn't overly unbearable. New York early in the morning was quite peaceful. It was cool outside, though this place was comfortably warm. Still, he didn't remove his black sweater. The collar rose up to cradle his chin as the coffee slid down his throat. He yawned despite himself. He hated travel. Jet lag was always—

The Watcher closed his eyes and frowned. A brief flash of something disturbed his thoughts. _A dark shape... a washroom stall_. He opened his eyes. Where had _that_ come from? He hadn't used the washroom in the airport. He'd gone straight for the taxi. He shook his head. It must be the jet lag. It always—

He frowned again and pressed his hands to his temples. _A crowd of people... fangs in flesh_. What the hell was going on?

"Sir?"

The Watcher looked up with a start. The waitress was holding the coffee pot suggestively above his mug. Addison looked down into his mug and saw that it was empty. He looked over at the door to the café to the sound of coffee being poured. He frowned. Niki strolled in, looking critically at the small, _homey_ café.

As the waitress walked away, the Watcher glanced down at his watch. It was five to seven. He blinked. Ridiculous. Absolutely preposterous.

---

The Nosphorus watched the two as they drank coffee in the small establishment. They were discussing him. He knew that. He knew that she knew that she was his target. Did she know he was watching? Did he know of her beloved Watcher? What he was? Who he served?

Soon —when enough had been infected, when enough served him and those like him— he would overcome her with sheer numbers. Her life, death and struggle would become meaningless as the Plague spread around the world... almost biblically, making way for the New Reign. In the New Reign, the Nosphorus would be the foot soldiers. Likely the servant class, once the impure were dispatched, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was doing what had been ordered. The Man would be there too, in the New Reign. He was a servant of Those Who Would Come After. The Man was his guardian — his distant advisor. The Man had been so distant, in fact, that he retained his mythic proportions even to his Plague-carrying servants. Now there were many. Perhaps enough.

---

"Oh, Knicks," Addison sighed, resolving to use her pet name. "What have you gotten us into?"

"It's not exactly like I blundered into this," she defended. "This was coming, apparently, whether you or I were here or not."

"But it _is_ after _you_," the Watcher raised an eyebrow.

Niki forced a grin onto her face and said through clenched teeth, "It's standing right outside the window."

Addison tensed, his eyes immediately dropping to his coffee mug. He surreptitiously tossed a glance out the window to see a tall man in a dark poncho standing outside, staring at them quite intently. He wasn't even trying to conceal his austere interest. The sight sent a chill down Addison's spine. He turned back and shared the Slayer's false smile. "He knows you know he's there," he said through a forced laugh.

Niki let the smile drop off her face. "Then there's really no reason to keep pretending, is there?" She turned fully to face the figure on the other side of the glass. _You_, she mouthed, then made a stabbing gesture with a fork. The figure didn't even blink. He continued staring as if he couldn't tell they could see him.

"That's it," Niki said with irritation, "this guy's done." She stood and reached inside her black jacket for the stake she knew she would find there.

"Wait," Addison cautioned. "I've been researching this Plague business. Anyone he's infected is subject to his command, or the command of any other carrier. Don't get bitten."

"Good advise for any vampire hunt," Niki said sarcastically. "Really, I think I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" her Watcher said harshly. "He'd only be so open about observing you if he knew he could challenge you physically. Perhaps he has more... _minions_ than you think."

Niki looked away from the window to those in the small café. The waitress who had served them glanced up for an instant from her note pad at the other end of the room. Niki looked from one customer to another, suspicion growing. How many _were_ infected? How many were enemies in hiding? _No_ she chided herself. _You're just being paranoid_. Yet when she glanced back to the window, her heart skipped a beat.

Pressing against the glass, all down the length of the café's windows, pressing at the door, were random people from the street. Bicycle couriers, road workers, pedestrians, commuters... And a small boy in a yellow raincoat. The eyes of all were white and lifeless.

Niki turned back to the waitress. She was walking slowly towards their table, her eyes white and her pupils mere specks. All over the café, customers were rising from their seats, turning and moving towards them.

Niki's heart pounded. "Oh... Shit."


	4. Nosphorus: Part II

Nosphorus: Part II - Act 1

Niki leapt onto the table top, lifting her stake threateningly. She was mentally kicking herself for neglecting to slip her shotgun into her jacket. She turned around quickly as the window next to their table shattered. Addison ducked out of sight under the table as the glass rained down over them. Another window was broken inwards a few seconds later. The infected from the street began pouring in, moving easily over the window sill and throwing chairs and tables out of their way with inhuman strength.

Niki kicked the boy in the yellow raincoat in the face, sending him flying back out the window into the crowds of gathering infected. The Slayer hopped down from the table and set about dispatching the customers and serving staff. It was no easy task.

The waitress who had served them threw herself at Niki's throat, clutching tightly. The Slayer smashed her own forehead into the waitress' face, sending the woman stumbling backwards, only to have three white-eyed customers replace her.

As Niki fought, she realized that not all the customers in the café were infected with the Plague. A woman clutched her child in the corner as the zombie-like creatures moved in towards the Slayer. A man with a black suit and a briefcase stood in the corner, apparently thinking this was all some sort of joke, as he had a smile on his lips. A business woman picked up her own dossier and smashed it across the head of the nearest infected person, succeeding only in diverting its attention.

Niki ducked under a swing and jabbed hard to the ribs, trying to make her way over to the business woman as the infected began to swarm about her as well. She was caught, however, by a Plague sufferer who fell to his knees and grabbed for her legs. She fell to the floor and delivered a heel to his face, rolling away in time to avoid the pounce of the boy in the yellow raincoat.

Three pairs of hands hauled the Slayer to her feet and held her arms as the little boy got to his feet. As the business woman screamed, Niki turned her head to see what was going on. As two of the infected held her, the Irish man with the neatly combed red hair and muttonchops approached her. Unlike the zombies, he seemed quite in control of his faculties. Amid the sea of expressionless faces and pinhole pupils, his face was serene and... and suddenly vampiric.

Niki blinked as his face transformed into that of a vampire. An ordinary vampire. She groaned as the little boy's fist drove into her gut. For a sixty five pound kid, he packed some serious power. She struggled against the iron grip of the infected, finally freeing one hand to break the nose of the ones holding her other. She leapt into the air and seized a light fixture, swinging her legs in a wide circle, catching the faces of the surrounding assailants.

Naturally, the kick went above the head of the little boy, who leapt up to grab her ankle. The added weight, along with the aborted kick, was too much for the fixture, which gave way and sent both back to the floor.

Niki was back on her feet in half a second, jumping over the unconscious bodies to throw the Irishman off the business woman. She gasped. As the Armani suit was thrown aside, the woman was revealed – her neck torn open, much more brutal a wound than she had ever seen inflicted by a vampire. The woman's eyes were rolled back in her head and her suit was drenched in blood. Nearly all that remained of her neck was the spine, the tendons cut and the trachea and esophagus shorn away. The woman sank to the floor in the broad pool of blood.

The Slayer turned angrily to the vamp in the Armani suit. Before her eyes could even reach him, she felt his hands shove her like a bulldozer. Niki flew backwards across the room to land across a small table which shattered under her.

Several faces assembled over her fallen form, all with eyes white and faces blank. Through bleary eyes, Niki heard the crash of the kitchen door being kicked in. She saw the faces of those standing over her all turn as one in the same direction.

"It's Smile-Time, baby," Pearce grinned as he stepped over the remains of the door. The vamp in the Armani suit immediately backed away into the nearest dark corner. The sun was just over the Eastern horizon, still blocked by buildings and high-rises, and now that the lights had been torn from their closed circuit by Niki's acrobatics, the café was only dimly lit.

One of the infected customers took Pearce by the shoulder and roughly spun him face to face. The vampire's head snapped back as the fist found his face. He laughed, bringing his fingers to his bloodied nose. "Ow, you bitch!" Pearce slapped the young man across the face with such force as to send him to his knees. Pearce touched the back of the infected man's head with three fingers while standing as far from him as possible. "Well, Dan," Pearce said in a nasal voice, "it looks like he's goin' for the field goal." And bringing his leg back in an exaggerated manner, he kicked the man in his down-turned face so hard it broke the man's neck. "Ooh! He'll have to sit this one out, Dan!"

Niki was pulled to her feet by the two infected who were left to deal with her. Feigning weakness, she let them pull her loosely to her feet, then spun hard and drove the wooden table leg into the one's chest. He fell to the floor, bleeding profusely and rasping with each breath. The Slayer raised an eyebrow. "Well, they're not exactly vamps."

"Here's the parade," she heard Pearce say as she caught the other infected man's arm and twisted it hard. "And here's the part that makes you smile." Niki frowned in amazement as the plague suffer flew across the room, twisting in mid air before he slammed into the rear wall, his body crumpling to the floor. "Now that's _gotta_ make you smile." Pearce grinned as he kicked another city worker in the chest, but his smile faded as his foot was caught by the man in the reflective vest and he was thrown to the floor. "Oh _come on!_" The vampire shouted angrily. "That wasn't a _little_ bit funny?"

Niki caught the city worker by the throat from behind and slashed it open with the sharp edge of the wooden table shard. She helped Pearce to his feet and looked to the dark corner wherein the Nosphorus had taken refuge. He was gone.

"That's right: You _run_ like a little girl too!" Pearce shouted at the retreating vamp in the Armani suit. After a moment he turned to the Slayer. "You okay?" Pearce laid a hand on Niki's shoulder.

Niki blinked uncertainly and turned towards the broken windows. The sun was just peeking over the buildings and the infected who could still walk were gone. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

"This way." Addison motioned from the broken kitchen door. "There's a way into the sewers. We best get moving before he sends for reinforcements." Pearce nodded and dashed back out the way he had come.

Niki waited a moment longer, looking down at the body of the fallen business woman. The other uninfected customers had all fled, leaving only this one innocent bystander a victim. Then the corpse's eyes opened, white and lifeless.

Niki backpedaled and dashed out of the café after Addison. Another day, another battlefield.

--

Logan raced down the steps into the Nail Biter. He sighed a breath of relief which was answered collectively by the customers of the bar. He was no crazed vampire —foaming at the mouth— and everyone he hoped to see safe and sound were sitting at the bar drinking, albeit dejectedly.

Logan would take dejected over dismembered any day.

"Logan," Niki's eyes brightened. Then she frowned. "Took you frickin' long enough!"

The man in the brown blazer shrugged. "I just heard! Scuttlebutt travels fast, but give me a break! I live in Freeport!"

"Drink, Mr. Kilpatrick?" An unfamiliar voice asked.

Logan frowned, sitting down next to Niki. Pearce and Addison were trying to ignore him, the Watcher nursing his jinn, the vampire holding his iced scotch to his bruised face. "Do I know you?" the man in the blazer and khakis asked, glancing uncertainly from the demon behind the bar to the Slayer beside him.

"The name's Hobbs," the demon smiled, "I never forget a face." He slid a beer down the bar to Logan, who caught it, still harboring his suspicious frown.

"But you've never _seen_ my face, until now..."

Hobbs shrugged, as if annoyed by the human's questions. "Since when is memory such a linear thing? This position opened up and I took it. Diego thinks I have a flare for socializing with customers."

Logan shrugged and shook his head, turning his attention to Niki. "So what happened?"

"We got creamed," Pearce said over her shoulder, taking a sip of the drink he had been holding to his face. "And not in the good way."

"If the Nosphorus hadn't retreated, he could have easily killed or turned us both," Niki clarified. "He had half the island beating the living... and non-living crap out of us."

"We need to take this son of a bitch out before this gets out of hand," Pearce returned the glass to his face.

Niki sighed. "We need a plan... a really kickass plan."

Logan nodded, taking a swig of beer and staring along with the rest at the shelves of glasses behind Hobbs. Finally, Logan set his jaw and sighed. "Yeah... I got nothing."

Then Logan, the vampire and the Slayer all turned to look at the figure sitting at the end of the bar. The Watcher sighed. "Amateurs."

Nosphorus: Part II - Act 2

Niki slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door stuck a little, as usual, but with some Slayer shoulder it opened. Logan followed her in and Addison after.

"I take it I'll be living here again?" the Watcher asked, inspecting the small apartment as if expecting it to have gone to hell in his absence.

"Yeah, sure," Niki shrugged. Logan scowled, still despising the Watcher who had done no good in the first place and then left without a word. Addison immediately turned and beckoned the vampire who waited outside.

"Come in, it's all right."

Logan and Niki turned as one to see Pearce stroll across the threshold with a grin on his face. "Finally!" Niki sighed defeated and Logan looked about ready to throttle the Watcher. Niki held him back.

"Now," Addison said, clapping his hands together. "We've got a problem–" he glanced at Logan who sat down at the kitchen table, "_several_ problems, actually. And they need to be resolved before we go into battle with this... _thing._"

Pearce sat down at the table across from the scowling human in the blazer, offering a friendly grin but receiving in response only a cold stare.

"You," Addison's pointing finger fell to the vampire, "can only fight provided you do not inspire fear. Correct?"

Pearce sighed and nodded. The vampire shot a glance to Logan who was barely suppressing a smirk.

"You," the pointing finger found Logan, "can't fight period."

Logan, not wanting to let his amusement fade, merely shrugged. "I know. I'm only human."

"And you," Addison pointed to Niki who tried to avoid the finger but found herself cornered.

"Hey, I'm the only one here who can hold her own!" She twisted out of the Watcher's incriminating point and plunked down into a chair at the kitchen table. Addison was the only one left standing, glaring down at the other three like a scolding parent.

"You have the strength of ten men..." he agreed, "ten drunk, blind, helpless old men."

Pearce smirked, only to have Logan kick him in the shin under the table. "What are you laughing at, circus freak?" Logan demanded.

Pearce cocked his head. "Circus freak..." he scratched his head and set his jaw. "You think that's really funny, don't you?"

Logan's sarcastic smile broke into a chuckle. "Yeah, I kinda do."

Pearce sighed. "Good." And the vampire decked him, making him fall backwards from his seat.

Logan leapt to his feet, his fists balled. His face was red with anger and he was breathing heavily. Niki gripped his arm, preventing him from destroying the helpless vamp. This did not, however, prevent his acetic words. "One day, you little shithead, you're going to get a stake right up your–"

"_Enough!_" Addison slammed his fist down on the table. Logan was jerked from his anger. "_This_ is your biggest problem!" the Watcher shouted. There was a stunned silence, ended abruptly when Addison abruptly grabbed the edge of the small table and overturned it, leaving Niki and Pearce sitting in their chairs facing each other and Logan standing above his own overturned chair, looking very confused.

"If you can't get along when you're _alone_ with each other, how do you expect to defeat something like the Nosphorus?"

"What do you suggest we do?" Logan said setting his chair upright and straddling it.

"I'll tell you exactly what we're going to do," the Watcher said confidently. "Pearce has a plan, and we're going to listen to him, follow his lead."

Logan's eyes widened. "_What?_" He jumped back to his feet, aiming his own accusatory finger at the Watcher. "How can you put our lives... _everyone's_ lives in _his_ hands?" The man searched for the vocalization to express his feeling. "He's... he's _nothing!_"

Niki squeezed his hand and looked up to him with her calm eyes. "Sit down. If Pearce has a plan, then he's a step ahead of us, isn't he?" Logan grudgingly sat, all eyes turning to the vampire who now looked very uncomfortable.

"The plan..." he said, covering his nervousness. "R... right. The _plan_," his eyes darted between Addison and Niki who looked to him expectantly. Logan looked at him with nothing short of contempt. "Well..." he began, "I do have the beginnings of a plan," he admitted, folding his hands in his lap.

Niki shrugged. "Let's hear it."

--

Logan was in the lead. He didn't have particular confidence in the plan, but the one thing he did have almost total confidence in was the twelve gauge he carried. Niki followed him with an axe and several stakes tucked away on her person. Each had a black bandana covering their mouth and nose. Pearce followed several paced behind Niki, pressed against the alley wall, his hands free of weapons, but clutching a fire-extinguisher sized container.

"_I won't need any weapons," Pearce explained earlier in the apartment. "I've got what I need right here," he massaged a fist and cracked his knuckles. Logan rolled his eyes._

Logan came to the end of the alley which was a door into the warehouse. One shot took out the lock and he gave the door a kick, opening it inwards. The three entered, Niki and Logan immediately switching on their flashlights. Pearce separated from them, hugging the inside wall and remaining in the dark.

"_It's important that I not be revealed until just the right time," the vampire explained. "Mr. Addison, who, I have to admit, is of no use in combat, will be waiting with the van in case we fail and need to retreat."_

Logan was the first to spot activity, quickly bringing his shotgun to bear. He cocked it loudly, clearing his throat as he did. Fifty pale faces, white eyes highlighted in the glare of the flashlight, turned towards him, all of them surrounding a crouched figure in a black suit. From across the warehouse, the light of the flashlights highlighted the red of the central figure's hair. Logan nodded. "That's him."

Niki grinned fiercely. "I'll get the guy in the middle – you take the bunch around him."

Logan scoffed. "Oh, you're so kind." The warehouse echoed with the sound of his first shot. One of the infected fell with blood pouring from his ruined face. Logan cocked the gun and fired again. He didn't have fifty rounds, but the nice thing about a shotgun as compared to a handgun...

"_And when you run out of rounds, you've got a handy club." Logan rolled his eyes as Pearce outlined the battle. "Naturally it will be a trap. The one in the center will be a diversion. The real Nosphorus will be somewhere else entirely, watching, waiting until you've let your guard down. Then he'll strike."_

Niki slashed her way to the center of the crowd of infected people. She drove her axe into the chest of the business woman she had failed to save in the café and watched her collapse to the floor. The little boy in the raincoat leapt into the air and set upon her with a sudden expression of animal blood-lust. His teeth bared and he tried to take a bite of her, but buckshot caught him in the side of the head and sent him to the ground.

"_When you get to the center of the ambush and the decoy has your full attention, the Nosphorus will strike. Luckily, that's when I strike too."_

As the red haired figure landed a fist to the back of Logan's head, sending him to the floor dazed, Pearce leapt from the shadows cast by the jostling flashlights. The Nosphorus made his way up behind Niki who was raising her axe above the crouching figure in the center of the infected.

"Surprise!" Pearce grinned as he threw the canister against the cement floor with a loud bang. Something shot away from it in the darkness and the canister itself began sliding crazily around the floor, trailing a growing cloud of mist.

Logan groggily got to his feet, immediately swinging his shotgun into the face of the nearest infected. The city worker went down and when he got up, his face twitched. As Logan swung again and missed, the man's face contorted momentarily before he regained enough composure to swing back, sending Logan to the floor.

By the time Logan got back to his feet, he could hear twittering all around the warehouse. An infected man went sailing past Logan and hit the floor, gasping for breath, tears flowing down his face. He was laughing hysterically.

Logan pressed his hand to his bandana, preventing the gas from entering his own system. "Where did you get that?" he demanded as Pearce swung a viciously accurate punch into the face of an infected man who was nearly doubled over in laughter.

"Nitrous oxide?" Pearce grinned. "I know a guy who knows a guy–"

"Who's a dentist?" Logan asked, cocking his gun and ending the laughter for an elderly woman.

"Pretty much," the vampire shrugged, kicking the canister deeper into the crowd of infected.

Niki aborted the downward swing of her axe and turned it into a broad sweeping arc, driving the blade into the waist of the surprised Nosphorus behind her. His face –classic vampire– twitched for a moment, then crinkled in amusement. He drew the blade from his side and with a chuckle amid the rising gas, pulled the weapon from the Slayer's hands.

Logan backed away from the rising cloud as the hysterically laughing infected began to fall on top of each other unconscious. He himself chuckled, waving a hand before his face to clear some of the fumes. He was feeling a bit lightheaded. As the mist finally began to clear, the only figures left in the center were the masked Slayer and the grinning Nosphorus. The lawyer was no expert on vampires, but he knew the undead did not need to breathe and so the Nosphorus' amusement was completely legitimate. Logan raised his shotgun but found his aim was wavering. The two were locked in such close combat, he daren't fire. Pearce joined him, smiling broadly.

"Wasn't that funny?" the vampire asked, but Logan was gazing intently at the battle in the center of the dispersing cloud. "Heh," Pearce chuckled. "Look't her go." As Logan watched, rapt, Pearce quietly backed away, slipping out of the building into the night.

Niki tore herself from the Nosphorus' grip and made a swing with the stake. She missed, sending her off balance for an instant. He caught her wrist as she swung again and twisted it hard, making her cry out in pain. Her foe brought his knee into her stomach and bashed his elbow into the back of her neck. His knee then drove into her face and sent her sprawling backwards. Her foot caught the flashlight illuminating the battle and sent it spinning away into the darkness. Now Niki was blind to the attacker.

The Slayer gripped her stake tightly, her heart pounding. She needed some Stuff. She was getting tired. That wasn't supposed to happen— it never happened when she was buzzed. Then the fist caught her jaw and the foot took her ankle, sending her twisting to the ground. As the boot came down on her chest, the warehouse was momentarily illuminated with the flash and bang of the shotgun. Then the boot was gone.

Niki sprang to her feet and looked down as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness at the figure on the ground. The Nosphorus was snarling, clutching his ear as blood gushed from between his fingers.

Niki scowled and drove her heel into his throat, twisting viciously. The gurgling sound was much like a laugh, but it didn't last long as the Slayer bent down and drove the stake deep into the thing's chest. It hissed as a normal vampire would and dissolved beneath her crushing boot to dust on the floor.

Niki jumped as Logan's hand slid around her waist.

"_And_ _then it's all lovey dovey, kissy smoochy and everyone lives happily ever after." Pearce sighed, satisfied and cracked his knuckles with a smug little grin. "What do you think?"_

_Niki and Addison nodded in unison. "That's what we'll do." As one they stood from the now righted kitchen table._

_Logan rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. Where do you keep the shotgun?" He took the weapon from the closet that Niki indicated and shouldered it with gusto. "The upside to this is that I can take as many shots at ol' Prince here as I like and still not ruin our battle plan."_

_Pearce nodded grudgingly. "One day, you'll be smiling and my face will be the last thing you see."_

Nosphorus: Part II - Act 3

Pearce leaned against the wall quite nonchalantly. He was a player now. He had done his bit — helped the A-Team kill the sicky, now he was free and clear and... and IXI.

"I'm very impressed with your performance," the Watcher nodded. "This seems to be moving quite smoothly now. She listens to you — more than she ever did to me... not that I'm sure she respects you, but..."

"Hey," Pearce stood straighter before the old man. "She respects me. Lawyer boy doesn't, but she does. And now it doesn't matter. New York is safe. Happy endings – that sort of thing. Right?"

Addison stroked his chin contemplatively for a moment. "Happy endings, yes. But for you... I'd like you to keep close."

"_What?_" the vampire demanded. "We had an _agreement_!"

"And I don't think it has been fulfilled yet." The Watcher was thinking quietly as Pearce angrily fingered his silver bracelet. "No, I think you'll remain with her. This present crisis is nothing. She is still intolerably insolent and rebellious to my authority... and I think you are the one who can bridge the gulf between us."

"And what do I get for 'bridging this gulf?'" the vampire asked annoyed. He was beginning to realize that he had committed himself to some insane venture... perhaps a snipe hunt to keep him occupied and harmless while the Council thought up new and better ways to kill him... or worse.

"As always– what can I offer?"

Pearce was quick to answer. "A place of my own. A nice place. Somewhere off the beaten path but not too far from Niki's apartment. And..." he pondered for a moment, "and as far away from Freeport as possible."

"Done," the Watcher said easily. He sighed and stepped out of the alley into the lamplight. "Now if that's everything, I think we're expected at the getaway van. I'll go first. You follow after a few moments."

Pearce, still a bit resentful of the entire situation, took Addison by the arm and pulled him back into the darkness. "_I'll_ go first. _You_ can wait in the dirty, damp alley for a few more minutes."

Addison nodded curtly. "Very well."

Pearce eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then turned and left the alley, heading around the block to the van parked outside the warehouse. It was empty.

--

Niki's body slammed roughly into the warehouse wall with a thud. She slid down the wall moaning, her legs wrapped around her assailant's waist, dragging him down with her. His mouth was attacking her throat, his lips and tongue tasting her battle worn flesh.

Logan put a hand against the wall to support them. His other hand slid underneath her and held her against him as he pressed her into the wall. She groaned as his mouth came back to hers, her legs tightening around him, grinding into him.

In the cone of light of the flashlight, the many corpses they had just destroyed lay dead and broken on the floor of the warehouse. After the laughing gas had sedated them, Niki and Logan had played one of Niki's favorite games. Find the heart, pierce the heart. With no information on how to cure the ill, and no real way to contain them anyway, euthanasia seemed like the best idea. Now they were playing Niki's all-time favorite game.

Logan pulled his hand from under Niki's writhing form, letting them both slide fully to the floor. She rolled on top of him and pinned his hands above his head, grinning evilly. Using her Slayer strength, she held both his hands with one of hers and tore his blazer from his chest. Then she lowered her head and pulled the buttons off his shirt with her teeth, sending them flying away into the darkness.

Lit only in a ghostly silhouetted profile, the Slayer looked like some carnal beast as she let Logan pull her shirt over her head, letting it fall atop her back jacket. His skilled hands found the clasp of her bra and as she shook her head, releasing her mane of blond hair in the darkness, she found the zipper on his khakis.

With a mighty thrust, Logan rolled them over, pinning her half naked form between the floor and the wall. She giggled as he began to undo her jeans with his mouth, then needing his hands, he moved his lips up to her hard nipple to immobilize her. She writhed under him as he dragged her jeans down her thighs. He didn't bother pulling them all the way off. As they were, clinging to her knees, they trapped her quite satisfactorily. His hands slid under the waistband of her panties.

Niki groaned as his mouth continued to assault her. Her hands dug into his short hair and held his head against her. Then without a word she lifted him from the floor, kicking off her jeans and panties and held him against the wall, riding her hips up against him, dragging his own undergarments down until she held him naked against the wall.

From behind the shadows, in the dimly backlit doorway to the warehouse, the vampire stood and watched, impassively. He barely blinked as the bodies began to thrust at each other, move into each other, eventually sinking back to the floor. Watching them always made him hungry.

Pearce jumped back into the driver's seat of the van and threw it into gear as Addison rounded the corner. Without more than a glance in the side mirror, the vampire took the van down the road with a screech of tires, leaving the mating couple and the Watcher alone in the darkened world.

--

Vince held a meaty hand against the vampire's chest as Pearce made a move for the back room. The forbidden room. Vince was tired of wasting such good girls. Human monsters paid a great deal for time with a girl like the one he had in the back. Sometimes they could even be reused. But vampires and demons didn't play like that. They didn't have fantasies they wanted fulfilled. They were hungry... and often sadistic, and you could _never_ use a girl after they were through with her.

"Not this time," Vince said confidently. He still wore his blue name tag and the bruised jaw he had acquired at Pearce's last meeting with him had faded. "I've had enough of your scum around here recently. You jokes think with this plague business that it's safer indoors at night? Well piss off. This here place is for living customers only."

"I'll pay you double," the vampire said stoically. He didn't have time for this. He needed to feed. No pudgy faced doorstop would prevent that.

"No chance, Watcher's pet. I don't want you reportin' to the old folks' home what we've got in here." Vince crossed his arms and widened his stance to finalize the discussion. "Now piss off."

Pearce raised an eyebrow. Inside of three minutes Pearce was lounging on the pillows of the back room, blood covering his mouth and lips. Vince lay drained across the floor, the amused and contemptuous expression still present on his face. _Move or else what? You'll kill me? Ha!_

Pearce sat for a moment on the pillows across from the huddling, sobbing form of the redhead who was tied to the wall. Wiping the blood from his mouth with his sleeve he stood and made his way towards her. She cringed deeper into her sobbing ball.

As she huddled tighter, whimpering in terror, Pearce's foot caught the edge of a pillow and he fell forward, tripping again over a carelessly untied shoelace and finding himself planted face-first against the floor. "Ow!" he said bitterly. "_Stupid_ floor!"

The girl had stopped sobbing and was peeking out from inside her protective shell of arms and elbows at him. The vampire sighed as he got up and crossed the distance between them. "Don't worry. I'm not going to eat you." He slowly moved his hand up to her wrists and untied her. Once free she quickly scrambled away from him and made a beeline for the door. Without a word she was gone, leaving him with his own pathetic heroism in the forbidden room with the big dead corpse of Vince. "You're welcome," he muttered.

Nosphorus: Part II - Act 4

Niki sighed with satisfaction as her racing heart slowly calmed. The best drug in the world was laying next to her with a dreamy grin on his face. He must know what he was to her. He must know.

"Knicks," he said, swallowing. "I love you."

Niki slowly closed her eyes. Shit. She sighed, covering her moment of hesitation with a yawn. "Knicks," she finally said with amusement. "I've never been able to tell... is that like 'the blade nicks her shoulder' or 'don't get your knicks in a twist?'"

"Well, not really either," Logan replied, propping himself up on his shoulder. "It's short for knickerbocker, which is slang for 'New Yorker.'" Without losing his passive gaze, he made a sad little sigh. "You didn't answer like I hoped you would."

Niki opened her mouth, then closed it, setting her jaw. "Life's a bitch, ain't it?" She rolled away from him and stood, taking her clothes from the pile.

Logan frowned, spreading his hands with confusion. "What'd I say?"

--

Pearce moved down the streets with nothing like the elation he had hoped to feel after vanquishing this Nosphorus. There was no reward from the Council, just more probation. No pat on the back from lawyer boy, no 'job well done' from the Slayer. Just 'let's ignore him and screw.' And that wasn't the most frustrating part. He slid his hands into his long raincoat and his fingers surrounded the nearly empty canister of nitrous oxide. The most frustrating part was that he _could_ have eaten that girl back there —that carefully selected specimen— but he didn't.

He was barely surprised when the footsteps he'd heard following him began to quicken to catch up to him. His hand had the canister by the nozzle and he felt himself ready for anything. As it turned out: Anything but this.

He turned quickly around and lifted the canister from his pocket as the footsteps brought their owner into range. His hand stopped in mid air, the fingers holding the nozzle tight. "Wha…?"

Pearce's eyes rolled back into his head upon seeing The Man who had been following him. Not a man at all, but a simple vampire in a black suit and carrying a briefcase. Pearce's brain didn't catch more than a glimpse of his attacker before he had relented total control of his mind to the disease within him. The disease which demanded obedience.

"Do you remember?" The Creep asked, speaking as he might to a troublesome child. "Do you remember what I told you at the airport?"

Pearce made a slow nod, his eyes rolled back in his head. The steel coffin lid slid back in his overrun mind's eye and he once again looked up to the face of The Man who had visited him in the freight storage warehouse a week ago. His arm slowly dropped to his side, the faint hiss of the escaping gas merging into the sound of the gently falling rain.

"Take them apart," The Man reinforced, not moving a single muscle. "Destroy them all."

Pearce nodded again, letting the can fall from his hand to the pavement. He turned on his heel and began to make his way towards the one place he did not want to be. With them.

--

Addison slowed the van and stopped it on the street across from the stairs leading down to the Biter. Celebration was in order. The Nosphorus had been eliminated and New York was... well, once again in as much nocturnal peril as always.

The side door slid open and Logan got out, silent, not making eye contact with the Slayer who rode shotgun. She opened her door once he had started down the stairs and acted like he didn't exist. Addison didn't move as they got out.

Once the other two were out of sight down the steps, he pulled the key from the ignition and pulled the latch on his door. His face turned to the window as he began to open the door and he nearly jumped out of his seat.

White-eyed and blank faced, Pearce stared back through the window, his face too close for comfort and lit only from the side by the nearest street lamp. The Watcher didn't have time to do more than lock the door when the vampire's fist came crashing through the glass to seize Addison's collar.

The cool night air and the wet mist of dawn wafted through the broken window as the vampire tightened his grip on the Watcher, staring through him with unseeing eyes. _Jet lag_, the thought pierced the old man's mind like a spear, sending his consciousness back into the recesses of reality and letting loose the long caged alter ego. That which served the Plague. That which served the Nosphorus.

"Listen," Pearce said in deep, inhuman tones. "Listen and obey."

Addison slowly nodded, his irises white and his pupils shrunken to mere specks. The hand slowly released him and he sat in the driver's seat of the van staring at his master without a word. His master spoke and he let the information seep into his mind, past the consciousness held insensible and into the subconscious where the Plague made its home.

"Do you understand?" Pearce asked when he was finished, he began to sway slightly, as the pressure of his conscious mind fighting to regain control increased.

"Take them apart," Addison nodded. "Destroy them."

Pearce dropped to the ground without another word and Addison slumped back against his seat. When the vampire awoke he scrambled to his feet and raced across the street and down the steps as the sun began to peek through the buildings to the East.

Addison opened the door and got out, frowning as the glass clattered to the ground from his lap. _What the hell had just happened?_ He locked the van, seeming rather pointless now that the window was open, and marched across the morning street to the bar.

Niki raised her small shot glass. The other three did likewise. "To victory," she smiled and downed the Rocky Mountain mix. The others followed suit. Pearce coughed as the awful stuff assaulted his throat. Both Logan and Addison smirked while Niki tapped the bar for Hobbs to mix another round.

This time, when the glasses were raised, the Watcher made the toast. He took a deep breath and locked eyes with each of them individually, finding Pearce last. "To the War."

Logan frowned and looked to Niki, but she had nothing but the most nostalgic expression behind her eyes. "To the War," she repeated in unison with Pearce and they both downed their drinks.

Logan blinked for a moment, then drank, swallowing hard.

--

Two days later found Niki in bed alone again, getting up to close the window which had been left open. Addison had returned to England, feeling the immediate crisis averted, leaving only the message 'Listen to Pearce,' on the whiteboard on the fridge. Niki tried to bring herself to feel sad that he had gone, but she could not. She had always felt him convenient to have around, like a helmet or a safety net. But this time he had come and they had solved the crisis without him. Maybe they were ready. Maybe _she_ was ready to grow up after all.

As she stared out her window, she wondered where all the little creatures below her were going. Did they know how close they had come to destruction. Could they know? She laughed. Would they believe?

--

Logan got dressed as he always did in his other life. Khakis, white button up shirt... and his blazer was on the couch downstairs.

Rachel stirred in her sleep and moved a hand across the warm spot where Logan had lain for the last three hours. As the alarm clock just now began to play the local news station, Logan gave a glance at the mirror and then walked straight out of his room.

He stopped on his way down the hall and carefully poked a head into the first room on the right. The ten year old girl therein didn't see him. She was still in her nighty, busily combing her hair in front of the mirror. He shook his head. It was only in moments like these that he regretted the life he lived. Hanna deserved better than him. She deserved better than this world, which he fought to keep safe for her. Rachel could not understand. She could never know. And neither could his daughter.

He trudged down the steps and started the pot of coffee, glancing at his watch. _Where are you now?_ he wondered.

--

Pearce grinned. The right adjective abandoned him. This was more than... this was... He just grinned. The condo was more than luxurious. It was a palace. When the Council went to town, they _really_ went to town.

His heart glowed as he took in the vast network of rooms. All the windows had been covered in thick drapes all nailed to the walls. Not a crack of light entered from the outside, but candles adorned every table top and chandelier.

The vampire shook his head... and just grinned.

--

Addison slowly closed the portfolio. Everything was in order. As the Council adjourned for the day, Sir Kyle Raleigh walked next to him to the door. The Council members were pleased with his decisions in America. Not only was Niki's performance improving, but she was actually starting to warm up to Pearce's ideas, which were nothing short of Council protocol.

"This reflects rather well on you, I should think," Kyle said stolidly. "I shouldn't be surprised if they gave you a promotion."

"I'm not in this for glory, Sir Raleigh," Addison said just as coolly. "I'm here to make sure the Slayer can take care of herself."

"Of course, of course. I meant no offense." The two turned the corner and found themselves walking alone down the hall towards the library. "How was your flight? Do you still get jet lag?"

Addison stopped, turning fully to the knight beside him. He blinked for a moment, feeling like the world was somehow becoming clearer, more contrasting. He closed his eyes. "Yes... yes I do…"


	5. Outcast

Outcast - Act 1

Niki Valtaine's heart pounded with the music. _All Told_ drove through the club like a live wire. Berlin had managed to book The Effigies and the club was packed. Somewhere in the moving mass of people were Logan and Pearce, but Niki wasn't interested in finding them. The music was her consciousness right now. In the darkness of the club, the smell of the people, the sound of the punk, she was alive again; human.

Her eyes were closed for most of the song as she moved to the beat, along with the ocean of others, but for one fleeting moment, her eyes opened and she caught sight... of him. With a growing sense of urgency, she let her feet tear her from the beat and her elbows move her through the dense crowd. Joey Ramone was here. Niki held her jacket tight around her, hugging the black leather as though it were all that kept her from spilling out like fog. Her head pounded with the drums. Echoes of Toe Tag City danced behind her eyes as she shoved her way towards her idol.

When she got to the bar, however, he had vanished. Sitting under the dim hanging lights instead was Logan Kilpatrick. He seemed so foreign to this place. Fortunately for him he had neglected to comb his hair and hadn't worn that god awful brown suit coat, but a lawyer was a lawyer and he was wordlessly exiled to the bar.

"Hey," he nearly shouted over the music as the song drew to an end. "This is what you do for fun?"

Niki looked around; still trying to catch a glimpse of the ghost she could have sworn she had seen. "This is what fun does for me," she answered as he handed her a drink.

"Careful," he warned as the roar of applause and cheers rose up like a storm. "There's some heavy shit in there."

Niki pulled her searching gaze from the room and looked down into the glass. It was an amber liquid with one ice cube in it. That and the promise of a special additive, no matter how heavy, was all she needed. The drink hit her like a sledge hammer. The drink and the stuff mixed into it. She stumbled away from the bar and nearly lost her balance completely when a man with long, dark hair caught her by the elbows.

"Whoa there," he steadied her and pushed his dark glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. "You'd look good on a chair." He pulled her down onto the nearest barstool and stood, admiring her jacket. "Bad getup," he nodded. When she said nothing, swaying obliviously, he shrugged and glanced at Logan who was watching her with concern. Looking back, the punk leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "Tell your yuppie brother to keep—" and she slumped into his arms, unconscious.

As Joey Ramone was arranging Niki on the bar for a nice nap, Logan sighed and turned back to his drink. She wouldn't appreciate this in the morning. He glanced at his watch. In the afternoon, rather.

With a deep breath he prepared for another musical assault. _Blue Funk_ was the next to submit to the pounding of the feet and the headaches. Frowning, he looked over to the only other 'yuppie' in the entire club. The man smiled back, raising his beer to salute it off his dark brow. His grin was a little too wide, Logan thought, considering how terribly sad he seemed at a glance.

"Sup, dog," the man grinned. He shuffled over to sit next to Logan, wearing not a scrap of leather or metal. His navy blue vest on his carmine shirt gave him the look of a standup comedian who had wandered into the wrong joint. He attracted the attention of the barkeep and indicated the glass Logan was drinking from. Instead of ordering the same, he spaced his fingers to indicate a larger portion.

Logan raised an eyebrow and shrugged. This odd man was in for a surprise if the bartender remembered to mix in all the shit that Logan had on his tongue. A cough and a sputter a moment later made him smile. Yup.

"Shit, man, what the hell _is_ this? _Gasoline?_"

Without looking back to his new drinking buddy, Logan kept his grin and sipped his custom mixer. "Fuckin' A," he agreed.

The man shook his head and held his burning throat. "_Shite_, you got some balls for a white boy."

Logan shrugged. "Hope so, otherwise I've wasted a fortune on condoms." He continued to sip his drink, hoping eventually this conversation would end. Now that Niki was down for the count, all he had to do was find Pearce and they could leave. Once he had finished his drink, of course.

"The name's Birk," the man didn't offer a hand, nor expect a response. "You got some funk on you yet."

Logan downed the last of his drink a bit more hastily than he had intended. "Yeah, well I think they have a spray for that now." He stood and threw his cash onto the bar. Grabbing Niki by the shoulders and slinging her arm around his neck, he began walking her nearly coherent form from the bar.

"Hold up," Birk took Logan's arm, very gently, but intentionally nonetheless. "I'm new to the Big Apple, maybe you could give a brother some advice?"

Logan turned around, weighed down by Niki's slumping form. "Listen," he said with very little amusement, "it's four a.m. I'm wasted and I'm tired." He jostled Niki who stirred. "_She's_ wasted and tired. I'd very much like to go home and pretend this night never happened, but since I have this annoying condition where I _never_ forget what I did when I was drunk, that's likely not going to happen. If you were looking for a nice happy place to settle down, then you've come to the wrong plane of existence. As for advice," he swayed slightly as he thought of something very profound to impart, "'Never sweat the petty stuff... and never pet the sweaty stuff.'"

Pearce met Logan at the door, eager to get away from this massive throbbing temptation and back to his luxury suite as soon as possible. "Have a good time?" Pearce asked, taking one of Niki's arms over his own shoulder.

"More fun than falling asleep in a trash compactor," Logan flashed a fake grin. "Let's just get as far away from Blue Funk as humanly... or inhumanly possible."

Pearce shrugged. "You're the boss."

--

Pearce, who never drank at public events, for fear of embarrassing himself, held the wheel of Logan's little brown Acadian. It handled like a bicycle and smelled like two drunk people. Logan sat in the front seat with Niki asleep on his lap. He held her head as the car eased to a stop at the red universe of the intersection.

Pearce was drumming his fingers absently on the steering wheel when the windshield shattered into a spider web of broken pieces. The baseball bat took another swing, hitting the driver's window and showering Pearce with glass.

"_What the hell_?" Logan demanded, sitting up straighter as his car was battered senseless.

Pearce threw the driver's door open and made a grab for the bat. Logan, laying Niki under the dash, quickly exited from his own side and leapt across the hood to tackle the lone vamp at chest level.

It didn't take long for Logan to be thrown clear of the battle, now between Pearce and the attacker.

"Worthless _traitor!_" the vamp snarled, taking another swing with his bat. Pearce ducked and stepped to the side. He knew without laughing gas, and as angry as this vamp seemed to be, he wasn't likely going to get a pun past the bat. "I'll pound your ass to Baltimore, bitch!" the bat soared past Pearce's stomach as he jumped back just in time.

"Do I know you?" he asked wandering back and forth, just out of range of the enraged thug.

"You fucking sellout," the vamp spat. "You'd have us all turned into bitches for The–" he landed hard against the side of the car as Logan slammed into him. The human's hand took the vamp's greasy hair and pounded his head around the inside of the broken car's window.

By the time Logan was thrown off again, the vampire's face was covered in small cuts from the edges of broken glass. He hissed and lunged at Pearce, dropping the bat. Pearce was too slow and the vamp caught him by the front of his KISS shirt, lifting his significantly smaller frame into the air.

"It's hygiene time," he said evilly, picking up the bat and cracking it across his own knee. Now a sharpened splinter, the vampire raised it menacingly and drew it back before Pearce's chest. Pearce's eyes searched the darkness for Logan who was just lifting himself from the concrete, several paces away. Too far away.

"Look, an epicene!" Pearce pointed vaguely, his eyes wide and fearful.

The vamp paused and frowned. "A _what_?" Then he screamed and exploded into dust, letting Pearce fall gratefully to the pavement. He looked up from the ground to see a pair of polished black shoes. Above them were a pair of black trousers and on top of them sat a carmine shirt nestled in a blue vest.

"Uh... _you're_ not Logan," he said matter-of-factly. Regardless, he took the man's hand and got to his feet.

Birk raised a sardonic eyebrow. "It's the hair, right?" he ran his hand through his short curly black hair.

As Logan approached, brushing himself off, Pearce shook his head. "No, you smell better." To this, Logan frowned, unsure of the context of the comment. "Anyway, I think I owe you a thank you, and maybe a drink."

Birk turned to Logan who took his place beside the vampire. "As long as it's not what this guy drinks," he laughed, slapping the lawyer on the shoulder.

Logan frowned with the beginnings of an embarrassed smile on his face. "Do I know you?"

Birk's jovial expression melted in seconds. It reappeared just as quickly. "Yeah– the club... like _twenty minutes ago_...?" His smile flickered. "You don't remember?"

Logan kept his awkward expression and shared it with Pearce who shrugged. "Uh, I don't think so." He glanced at Birk's attire. "Twenty minutes ago we were in the Berlin, listening to the Effigies, not D.J. Cool."

Birk glanced to Pearce for help but got nothing. He shrugged, helplessly. "I sat beside you at the bar– drank what you drank. 'Fuckin' A, it's gasoline,' you said."

Logan was shaking his head. "Sorry. You've got me confused with someone else." He turned and walked unsteadily around the car to the passenger side. Niki was still asleep on the floor.

Pearce watched him get in before turning back to Birk. "You'll have to excuse him, he's plastered." He stretched his hand out and pumped Birk's graciously. "Thank you very much. You're very good with... wood." And he got back into the car and pulled through the red light.

Outcast - Act 2

Hobbs looked up from his sweeping as Birk walked in. His glance didn't last more than a moment before he went back to sweeping. As Birk took a seat at the bar, Hobbs emptied his dustpan into the trash near the door. He walked casually around the bar and took a particular bottle off the shelf. "Birk, right?"

Birk's eyes widened. "You remember me?"

The barkeep shrugged. "I never forget a face." The drink was poured and Birk held it like a philosopher's stone.

"Well, then you're the only one," he said forlornly. "No one ever remembers me."

Hobbs raised a nearly disinterested eyebrow before taking a glass and cleaning it. "Oh? Why's that?"

Birk sipped at his drink for a long moment before answering. "Cursed. Forgot some chick's name at a party in front of her friends. Boom. I'm a nonperson."

"That's rough," Hobbs nodded. He continued to act as though this entire heart breaking story were the tale of the night. "What d'you do now?"

Birk shrugged. "Wander around mostly, see if I can find someone who won't forget me the minute I'm out of sight."

"I remember you," Hobbs suggested. "I never forget a face."

Birk nodded but his lonely expression didn't change. "Yeah, but you're a demon. I'm looking for human companionship. I didn't _want_ to get involved in the underground. It just happened."

"Plenty of nice demony people out there," Hobbs reminded him. "Like myself for example."

"If I could ever be happy mixing with your kind," Birk snapped, "then the curse would extend to you too, wouldn't it?"

Hobbs let the insult pass with a shrug. "Happiness is how you cut it."

Birk lifted his glass to that. "To being cut."

--

Niki sighed in exasperation. "That is so _typical_, Logan. How can you not take this seriously?"

Logan shrugged, innocently. "Why do you have to take it _so_ seriously?"

Niki looked at him with incredulity. "You're cheating on your wife, Logan, and you think I'm _overreacting?_"

Logan took her by the shoulders, but she shrugged off his grip. "Come on, Niki, we've been through this. It's not the same between you and I as it is between me and Rachel."

"But I'm expected to live your lie for you, while you don't even tell her you don't love her?" She scoffed. "How sick is that?"

Logan slowly dropped his gaze. "She knows I don't love her... like that," he lied. "But I do love her. In a way I could never love anyone else – not even you." Niki crossed her arms. "As the mother of my child."

Niki ground her teeth. "And if I told you to get a divorce or I'll leave you?"

Logan looked up. "You'd never do that. We both know that." He dropped his gaze again. "Because you don't love me enough for that." Niki was silent for once. "You don't really love me at all. You've never once said it. I'm just your boy toy. No more important to you than Stuff."

Niki blinked. He'd nailed it dead on. "That's not true," she said quietly.

"Now whose lie are you living?" Logan demanded, turning the anger completely around. "You mean so much more to me..." he looked down sadly, "than a human could ever mean to a Slayer."

"Oh grow up," Niki said annoyed. "Dump the soap opera crap. Don't you _dare_ make me feel guilty because _you_ had to go outside your marriage for sex." Logan said nothing. "If you don't have the constitution to either fix or end your marriage, what makes you think you're something that I could love? Do you think I'm that shallow?"

Logan opened his mouth to answer but no words came out. How could she be so right? How could all the excuses he had invented for his life until now vanish just like that? What kind of sense did that make? "There... are different kinds of—"

"Oh, go fuck yourself," she said dismissively, turning from the bedroom door to grab her jacket off the table. "Your ego's the only one who'll have you."

She slammed the door shut behind her, walking quickly to the elevator and hitting the key several times, sure he would follow her. He did. "Knicks, I—" the elevator doors slid shut, cutting him off.

She was halfway down the block in the late afternoon sun before he caught up with her again. "Niki, wait!" his hand came down on her shoulder and she grudgingly turned. "What's this really about?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she frowned. "I have to have an ulterior motive for thinking you're a jerk?" She tore away from his grip and continued walking. "Has it ever occurred to you that if the entire world thinks you're an asshole, maybe it's not the world that has the problem?"

"No, I can't say that's ever _actually_ occurred to me," he said sarcastically. "What I want to know is how the hell you can get so high and mighty with me — you're no angel in a leather jacket."

"I've got my problems," Niki shrugged, "I've never denied that. But having them and embracing them is two different things. You defend yourself like..." she squinted in disgust, "like screwing me is some kind of reward for killing vampires."

Logan's eyes showed just how deep she had cut. He slowly fell back a step, looking at her in a completely new light. For a long, painful moment he said nothing. "Is that what you think of me?"

Niki fought down the guilt and shrugged candidly. "Yeah, a little."

Logan blinked. With a small nod, he turned back to the apartment, where his car was parked, and ran straight into a man in a blue vest. "Excuse me," he mumbled and brushed past.

"Hey, Logan," Birk spun Logan around with a jovial grin. "Don't sweat the petty things, man!"

Logan frowned. "Excuse me?" he asked harshly. "Do I know you?"

Now it was Birk who frowned. "Yeah, the other night, I saved you and your buddy's buts from that vamp! Don't you remember?"

Niki eyed Logan skeptically, then returned her attention to the man in the carmine shirt and navy vest. "I didn't hear about this," she said tersely. "Have you taken to involving humans in your fights to get back at me — or because you just can't handle yourself?" she asked and Logan ground his teeth.

"I don't have any idea what this guy's talking about," Logan said spitefully, glaring at Birk as he did. He then turned his attention back to the Slayer. "And just for the record – the last time I fought a vampire, you were passed out on the floor of my car, hopped up on some acid I can't even spell."

"Yeah," Birk nodded. "I remember that too. You and the KISS fan were getting your butts kicked by a bad-ass vampire and I saved you... As I recall, you were at that club that night too."

Logan exchanged glances with Niki who was not looking impressed. The man shrugged and felt his anger growing. "Look, I don't know who the fuck you are, or what you're trying to do, but I've never seen you before in my life and I don't need your help." Logan turned and stormed off, not giving either of them a second glance.

Birk raised his eyebrows and sighed. "Well..."

Niki swallowed her anger. "Sorry about him. He's having a bad day... and he's an asshole," she added loud enough for him to hear. "How do you come to know about vampires?"

Birk grinned. "Long... _long_ story. But I've been dusting now for a good three years–"

"Hey, me too!" Niki broke into a grin.

"No kidding!" Birk flashed a wide grin. "We're practically cousins," he laughed.

Niki shared his laugh. "Hey, why don't you come to the Nail Biter tonight. KISS fan and I'll be there. I'm sure he'd be glad for some company."

Birk smiled. "I'd love that, thanks."

Niki nodded. "I gotta go, but I'll see you tonight," she turned to go, but he stopped her, setting a small white card in her hand.

"Here," he said quickly. "In case you need to get a hold of me," he closed her fingers around the card before turning and walking casually back down the sidewalk. Logan's car was already gone.

Niki looked down to see the plain white card stamped Birk & Hatt, initialed in elaborate calligraphy _B&H_. The telephone number was printed on the back. "See you then," she said under her breath.

Outcast - Act 3

Hobbs let the beer flow freely as Pearce and Niki toasted another successful hunt. Niki was slowly warming up to the vampire. He was often an annoyance, but the sheer volume of annoyance in her life recently made his company somewhat of a relief.

Logan didn't join them that evening. Neither, however, did he go home. He found a quiet park bench in Central Park and watched the sun go down. Niki wasn't sad at his absence. He was her problem this week. As she thought about it, he had been a problem since they had met. Sipping at her beer, keeping the friendly smile, she questioned her decision to explain to him the way of the world.

"Hey, Birk," Niki's smile widened as the man, still in his carmine shirt and vest, walked easily through the doors of the Nail Biter. "Take a seat," she said warmly.

Hobbs locked eyes with the man and began to fill a glass from the tap. The barkeep's expression was unreadable, but Hobbs, for the short weeks that he had been working here, was never known to be as friendly as Felix had been anyway.

"I don't think we've ever been formally introduced," Birk held out his hand to Pearce, who set his beer back down on the bar. "Edward Birk, of Birk and Hatt."

"Pearce," the vampire took the hand a little hesitantly. "Of... Valtaine and Associates." Niki chuckled into her beer. Birk nodded and placed a white card into the vampire's hands. Pearce looked down at the initialed calligraphy and nodded. "What is Birk and Hatt?" he asked easily.

Birk shrugged. "Private geological surveyors. Hot business for budding mining companies." He took a sip of beer as Niki and Pearce exchanged odd glanced. "And what is Valtaine and Associates?"

Niki blushed and took Pearce's arm to prevent him from responding. "–We're into private security."

Birk frowned, looking from one to the other. "_You_ guys are goons?"

Niki raised an insulted eyebrow. "Something wrong with that?"

The man shrugged. "I suppose a vampire and a Slayer would make a dynamic duo in the security industry." He noticed both their eyes widen. "Oh, sorry–" he hunched closer and whispered conspiratorially, "were we keeping that a secret?"

Niki sighed and returned to her beer. "No, I guess not. I just didn't think it was that obvious."

"Well, for all intents and purposes, you seem human," Birk explained, "but in a place like this, with a vampire sitting next to you —clearly intimidated by you—"

"-Hey!" Pearce protested.

"—you _must_ be a Slayer." He sipped his beer and patted Pearce on the shoulder consolingly. "I just wanted to join the team."

Niki raised her eyebrows. "Join the _team_?" She was at a loss for words. She leaned over to Pearce and whispered quickly, "_we have a team_?"

"Sure," Birk nodded emphatically. "Fighting vamps, killing monsters... all that fun stuff you and your team do. I want in."

Pearce shook his head. "No way — _I'm_ the new guy. Unless you have some kind of super power... like you can breathe underwater or fly... then we're going to have to say–"

"Sure, why not," Niki shrugged. Her mind was tracing the short history of their group, truly starting with Pearce's arrival... But even before that. To the night she had met Logan. All of the events from that point to this careened through her mind in one instant. She shook away the memories. "We could use a third member," she said icily. Pearce slowly looked over at her. He was about to lean in and whisper something but her look made it clear she knew exactly what she had said.

"Great," Birk smiled. He took the beer from the glowering barkeep, raising it in a grandiose toast. "To the Associates!"

Towards the end of the night, everyone was hunched over a little more, but the excitement was still present in Birk's eyes. Finally he sighed, staring into the bottom of his empty glass. His eyes flickered to the barkeep, then down again. "Well, I gotta go. Hatt will have my ass if I don't show up to work in three hours."

Niki nodded, standing as Birk did. Pearce was still slumped and Hobbs was still glowering. "It was good to meet you, Mr. Birk. I know we both look forward to seeing what you can offer," she smacked Pearce on the shoulder and he winced. "Don't we?" Pearce mumbled and nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow night then?" Birk raised an eyebrow. "We could find a nest and have us some fun."

"It's a date," Niki smiled. And the man in the carmine shirt left. The Slayer sat down at the bar with a satisfied sigh. "What a nice guy."

Pearce raised his eyebrows. "_Nice_?" He sat up straighter and glared at the girl before him. "What a _nice_ guy?"

Niki frowned and shrugged. "What?"

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he asked. "We don't have a crime-fighting team! We already have three people and we _don't_ need anyone else getting their ass mopped around the floor."

"It couldn't hurt," Niki shrugged.

Pearce observed her for a long moment. "Or is that exactly what it will do?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Niki returned her gaze to her drink.

Pearce scoffed and shook his head. "Real mature, Slayer. Why don't you just send him a Dear John?"

"I'm not trying to replace him," Niki defended. "I just think he's not cut out for fighting vamps and demons."

"And that assessment wouldn't have anything to do with his performance... in another arena?"

Niki glared. "Real subtle, Pearce."

"I'm just saying..." he shrugged.

"I don't think we can trust him like we used to," she said seriously.

"You mean like _you_ used to," the vampire corrected. "I _never_ trusted him."

"_Fine_," she spat, "I don't think _I_ can trust him anymore. I think there's something wrong with him."

"What d'you mean?" Pearce frowned.

Niki sighed and shrugged her shoulders, almost as though she could just forget about it. Then she thought twice. "Haven't you noticed anything out of the ordinary with him recently?"

"Out of the ordinary how?" Pearce asked,"I mean: he's a small claims lawyer who kills vampires."

"I mean – memory lapses. Unusual aggressive behavior. Unpredictability. Things like that."

Pearce shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much all of those things. Why? What's that mean?"

Niki frowned and thought for a moment. "I have no idea — wait..." She turned to Hobbs, who had steadily been working his way down the bar away from them. "Hobbs, come here."

The barkeep sighed and returned to his most dependable, yet most profit depressing customers. "Can I get you anything else tonight?"

"Do you know anything about that thing a bunch of weeks ago?" Niki asked casually. "Right before you got this job?"

"The plague scare? Yeah, that had demons packing up and down the coast."

"Do you know anything about the plague itself?" Her gaze narrowed on him, her voice lowering just slightly.

"Sure– got a friend who knows a guy who knows this chick–"

"Yeah, we get the idea," Pearce interrupted. "Just tell us what you know."

Hobbs shrugged. "Nosphoric plague – Macedonian witch doctor's masterpiece. Turns the local vampire population into carriers and virtual slaves to the one who started the plague. All the unlucky ones who go under the fang of the carriers end up just the same – slaves to the vampire caste."

"Slaves–" Niki frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Zombie type," Hobbs said easily, "keyed to recognize in their infected subconscious whoever it is they're supposed to serve. That's how it's insidious. You can have an entire Greek army loyal to the Macedonian general... and they don't even know it."

"So they serve from their subconscious?" Pearce frowned. "With white eyes and animal ferocity?"

Hobbs frowned. "No, that's just symptomatic. The result of virus-induced blackout. They go under at the behest of their master or when the circumstance of their infection is triggered, then they wake up with no memory of what happened. The deprivation of sleep makes them irritable and aggressive, sometimes irrational. Same for the vampires – except they get the ugly rat-face thing—"

"Which eventually goes away," Niki held up a finger. "Which is why we have to catch them early."

Hobbs nodded. "Exactly. But you caught them, so there's nothing to worry about..." he looked from one to the other, concern in his eyes. "Right?"

Pearce shared the worry and turned it on Niki. "Right?"

"I think..." Niki thought of Logan, his insistence that he had never seen Birk before. His constant adversarial attitude towards her recently. In fact... just since Hobbs had begun working. "I think Logan's infected."

Pearce sat agape for a moment. "Uh... hm," he thought about this for a moment, then his lips tightened in a mischievous grin. "So what's the cure?"

Hobbs backed away his eyes widening. "Whoa, I really think you guys want a bit more than a hunch before you start talking about the Cure."

"Why? What is it?" Niki leaned forward, her interest piqued.

"Three days of indescribable agony," Hobbs said bluntly. "Strapped to a table with silver spikes imbedded in your stomach and spine."

While Pearce's smile only increased, Niki sat back on the stool. "That's a little harsh for being an ass."

"Not where I'm from," Pearce smiled. "I know vengeance demons who'd do worse."

--

"Sorry," Logan frowned looking up from the park bench, "but _who_ the hell are you?"

Birk smiled. "I'm your replacement."

The man in the blazer frowned. "Uh, are you from law school?"

"I'm taking Niki, I'm taking the vampires, the demons, the adventure... I'm taking it all."

Logan stood, crossing his arms with a profoundly confused expression. "_Who_ are you?"

"There's nothing you can do," Birk smiled. "You waste what you've got: you pollute it and you put it up for grabs. You've got no idea what you've got – how lucky you are to belong."

"Look, buddy," Logan smiled condescendingly, "I'm sorry you've got no friends, and I'd like to get to know you better – but Niki's not your type, and I don't take well to threats."

"I _am_ replacing you," Birk said confidently. "And you're going to step aside gracefully. Go back to that life you hate and be miserable for the rest of your little life."

"And why would I do that?" Logan frowned, readjusting his crossed arms to appear even more unimpressed.

"Because if you don't, Rachel Kilpatrick will find out exactly how you've been spending your late nights."

Logan examined Birk's face for a long time. "You wouldn't. There's no reason to."

"Fuckin' A, I would. We've met several times and every time you piss me off. You dont deserve either of your lives, let alone both of them. It's time to choose, asshole. Your wife or this life."

Logan continued examining Birk, slowly uncrossing his arms. Finally he gave a little chuckle and drove his fist into Birk's face.

Outcast - Act 4

"Well, this has been a... unique evening," Pearce said, standing a little uneasily from his stool, "but my suite at the Shangri-la is calling my name."

"How is that working out, anyway?" Niki said, counting out some bills for their drinks.

"Great," Pearce nodded, his head bobbing a little more than normal. He had promised himself he wouldn't drink to excess tonight. He hated making a fool of himself — when he could avoid it. They started out, but Hobbs called them back with a tap on the wad of cash on the bar.

"You paying for that demon too?"

Niki's attention snapped back together. "_What?_" She looked around, to make sure he was talking to her. "What demon?"

"Birk," the barkeep said with an amused grin. "Don't tell me you and you're Slayer senses couldn't see right through him."

Pearce swayed slightly and shrugged. "I knew he was evil. All geologists are evil. Everyone knows that." He swayed a little more, taking Niki's shoulder to steady himself.

"You find it strange that he gave you his business card?" Hobbs said patronizingly. "Even though you don't happen to be a budding mining company." This made Niki frown. "He gave it to you because his initials are the only thing that counteract his demon power — to slip from people's memories."

Niki looked down at the business card. "So... Logan didn't remember him... because no one remembers him."

"But he wants_ you_ to remember him," Hobbs said emphatically, hinting as heavily as he could. Hinting was a much more challenging game when the other players were slightly plastered. "He's worked himself in as the third member of your little gang..."

Niki's eyes widened. "Logan," and she was out the door.

Pearce swayed in her wake for a moment as the doors closed. He squinted at the barkeep. "But how do _you_ know all this?"

Hobbs shrugged dismissively. "I never forget a face."

--

Logan dropped to the ground with a bloody nose. "I gotta learn how to fight," he muttered as the toe came up into his chin, sending him onto his back.

"You're useless, Logan," Birk smiled down at him in the early morning light. "You can't fight, you're not loved – you should just step aside and let the heroes be."

"Fuck you," Logan retorted, rolling through the grass to pull Birk's ankle from under him. The man in the carmine shirt went down and Logan was back on his feet, looking around for something to use as a weapon. He quickly removed his blazer and raised his fists as Birk got to his feet.

Before Birk could turn around, Logan planted a series of punches to the back of the blue vest, between the shoulder blades. Birk didn't even flinch. He turned around and snatched one of Logan's wrists, whirling him around like a child might a doll.

The lawyer landed hard on the grass a dozen feet away, shaking his head to clear the dizziness. He stubbornly raised his fists again, but Birk shrugged, pityingly.

"Logan... _you moron_," Birk said shaking his head. "Give up. Go home. Call it a day and live your life. Leave them to me."

Logan was sweating and his ribs hurt from the punches he hadn't been able to avoid, but something caught his eye and he grinned. "I'll leave them to you," he chuckled. "Here they come to kick your ass."

Birk's head whipped around as Niki and Pearce appeared around a bend in the path. Logan's smile passed from him to the demon. "Idiot: They're not coming to rescue you – they're coming to help me, their new friend."

Logan's gaze moved quickly between the two approaching figures, still at a distance, and the dark figure before him, not a trace of injury on him. Not a trace. "You'r not human," he observed, recalling the way he had been tossed like a rag doll.

Birk shrugged. "None of your concern," he moved forward and Logan lashed out with a punch, realizing too late that Birk was going to allow the blow, for effect. He went down with exaggerated cries of pain and now holding a suddenly bloody nose.

Logan frowned. "You son of a—"

"–Logan!" Niki called as she began to run down the path towards the pair.

Logan looked about quickly, knowing if he was abandoned —replaced by this demon— Niki's life might be in danger. She couldn't be allowed to trust someone like Birk. As hypocritical as the thought was —coming from him— Logan feared for her safety in the demon's company.

He stepped over in a flash to his blazer and wrapped it around the neck of the kneeling, grinning Birk. The grin disappeared as Logan twisted the ends of the brown blazer around the back of the demon's neck, tightening the loop. Even if seeing this act might lead Niki to kill him, at least Birk would be out of the picture. As he wound the knot tighter, he smiled. _What a selfless thing to do,_ he mused.

As Niki approached, ready to snap Birk's neck, Logan was fighting Birk's struggles and choking the demonic life out of him. Her heart raced as the scene of violence transpired. Pearce came up beside her, watching as Logan turned Birk's face purple.

The struggling went on for several minutes with Niki just watching her lover grip tighter, twist harder and shove his knees into the demon's shoulders. Sweat poured off the lawyer's brow and he strained to keep his grip on the improvised noose, but soon the demon stopped struggling. And Niki had just stood there. Part of him was confused. Was she going to kill him or kiss him?

Letting go of the jacket sleeves, he let the body fall to the grass. He wiped his brow and looked down at the sweat stains on his shirt. He surely wouldn't have managed to kill the bastard if Birk hadn't honestly believed Niki and Pearce would help him. That meant he hadn't been lying. One way or another, Niki had been out to replace him.

With a final sigh, he picked up his jacket and beat the wrinkles out of it, slinging it over his shoulder and turning to the pair who watched his every move. The burning resentment was evident in his eyes and found only shame when he looked at the Slayer. He paused a moment before the both of them, then spat on the ground in disgust, walking away into the morning sun.

--

Niki slowly sipped the coffee she cuddled between her cold fingers. She looked miserably into the distant wall of her kitchen. Pearce sat on the other side of the table, sipping at a mug of blood.

"So..." the vampire sighed, examining the delicious, if not miserable looking blonde before him. "You still think he's infected?"

Niki didn't take her eyes off the point of interest in the distance. _I hope so_.

--

Logan sat at the bar of the Berlin, the book pressed firmly open, the drink rattling on the bar's surface as the music pounded through the club. He had never felt that punk had reflected anything inside him before. Slightly less conspicuous now, in a baggy pair of faded blue jeans and a black turtleneck, he felt some of the lyrics talking directly to him.

_If all's confused _

_And they corrupt _

_I'll know which way is up_

_It's done._

Logan swallowed and turned the page. "What're you readin'?" the man he remembered from the other night sat down beside him, indicating the pages.

Logan kept a finger at his page and closed the book to reveal its cover.

_Attack & Defense:_

_The Rudiments of the Dark Arts_

The punk raised his eyebrows and turned back to his drink. "Well... Good luck with that," with the slightest excuse he could think of, he stood and disappeared into the crowd. Logan shrugged and opened the book again. Niki would be angry with him. She would be furious, in fact: This was the second time he hadn't gotten Joey's autograph.


	6. The Cure

The Cure - Act 1

Pearce dropped his hands to his sides in annoyance. "Not a frickin' clue what you're talking about."

Logan reached out to the arrangement of fresh fruit and selected the freshest looking apples. "Yesterday," the man in the blazer said with equal annoyance, "we were sitting at your place —your _palace_— watching Magnum and you said—"

"I don't think so," the vampire raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you sure you weren't just watching it by yourself...? At your place?"

Logan made an expression of confused contempt. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He bagged the apples and twisted the bag tight. "I think I'd remember going over to your place and watching TV. It's kinda hard to confuse a gothic condominium with my suburban dream home."

"Whatever," Pearce dismissed, internal alarms going off. Something was terribly wrong. "Aren't you getting bananas?"

Logan shrugged. "And why should I get bananas?"

There was a pause as Pearce waited for Logan's question to answer itself. "...Uh, because you _always_ get bananas when you go shopping. Niki loves them."

Logan turned away and pushed the cart to the bakery section. "I'm not shopping for Niki."

The realization dawned on the vampire and he nodded. "Ah, I see. This is part of 'Logan's Apology.' How's that going by the way?"

"I don't know what the hell I was thinking ever hooking up with Niki in the first pl..." he stopped and seemed to see something flash before his mind. "Oh, yes I do — but that doesn't make it right. She's right. I have a family and a responsibility to them. Even scum bags have responsibilities." Pearce eyed the human who was examining the loaves of bread on the shelf. "White or whole wheat?"

The vampire shrugged. "What would a scum bag choose?"

Logan thought for less than a second. "White," and he tossed the loaf into the cart. "And if anyone asks, you're my brother."

The vampire in the black KISS shirt and faded blue jeans shrugged his shoulders as if he were Logan's apathetic teenage son rather than his brother. "Whatever."

--

"A couple of weeks ago, he forgot this car accident we saw on the news together. And before that, he kept forgetting when he was supposed to pick me up..." Niki up ended the amber liquid. The Stuff in it kept her as much a Slayer as she could be without feeling the sudden and unexpected emptiness Logan's absence had introduced. "And that's not to mention all the erratic and aggressive behavior of late." She blinked away the after image of the lights behind her eyes. "I mean... seriously. He totally just up and left me. How's _that_ rational?"

"Hobbs," Pearce frowned, carefully nursing a beer, "what were the symptoms again?"

The barkeep sighed as he refilled Niki's glass. "Plague sufferers get irritable, aggressive and irrational from the lack of sleep caused by frequent blackouts and lapses in memory. Eventually hallucinations set in and total cognitive function breaks down. Then it's all over."

"Hallucinations," Pearce snapped his fingers. "Just last night, he was convinced he'd come over to my place to watch TV. If that's not delusional, I don't know what is."

"How do you know _you_ didn't have a memory lapse?" the Slayer asked with a frown.

The vampire scoffed. "I _didn't_, alright?"

The Slayer shrugged. "I believe you. I'm just worried about the amount of information we're going on."

"If he _is_ infected," Pearce cautioned, "then his family is at the mercy of the Nosphorus he serves. And if he's told to infect other vampires —allow them to feed on him— then we'll have a whole new outbreak on your hands." Niki was nodding. Everything Pearce was saying made perfect sense – then again, with all the Stuff in her, just about anything made sense. "Can we afford _not_ to take him... under quarantine?"

Niki swallowed. "Hell of a price to pay for being an ass."

--

Logan carried the bag of video cassettes towards his car. On an impulse he had decided to rent some movies. Popcorn... cuddling... The possibilities were endless. They were even chick flicks. A sappy romance for Hanna – then it was off to bed with her and the slightly more adult romance for Mr. And Mrs. Kilpatrick.

"What've we g-got here?" the skinny crack-vampire stepped out of the shadows cast by the narrow alley. "A p-poor defenseless man on his w-way home."

Logan, still not recognizing the nature of his enemy nonetheless prepared himself for an attack. In an instant he could call up a protection spell that would prevent any kind of contact. This relatively newly perfected power gave him such a confidence that he didn't even set down his movies. His car was in sight. He would be out of this situation in seconds. It was almost amusing.

"Can I help you with something?" the man asked, courteously.

The vampire played along. "Yeah, you c-could. I'm a l-little hungry. You mind t-terribly if I suck you dry?"

Logan finally laughed. Had vampires declined so much these last few weeks? He set down his bag and raised his arms helplessly. The barrier between himself and the vampire before him was firmly and invisibly in place. This was going to be funny. "By all means," the man smiled, "suck me dry."

With a dull thunk, the board came down on the back of Logan's head. The vampire ran off into the darkness. He had played his part.

Niki and Pearce looked down at the unconscious body at their feet. "You were right," Niki said regretfully, holding the board guiltily. "He was going to offer himself to spread the plague."

Pearce sighed. "Only one thing to do now."

The Cure - Act 2

"This is it," Hobbs said with some hesitancy. "I had to specially manufacture the parts and assemble it from millennia old drawings... but this is it."

It was hideous. Even Pearce, who generally took a liking to things that reminded him of his days of sadism, had to admit that this was a cruel looking creature.

As far as torture tables went, this one was fairly straightforward: A wooden table incised with several channels which funneled blood to a drain in the center. There were leather bindings for the hands and feet and head and a wooden block upon which to rest the back of the skull.

One of the two oddities about this table was the brace which was hinged at one side and could be brought down across the mid section. The brace was wrought iron, giving it some weight and slightly off center of it was a ten inch long silver spike, whose tip, when brought down, fit into the end of one of the incised channels.

The other oddity was the headrest. With a forehead strap and block upon which to rest the head, it was unclear at first where the other two silver spikes were designed to go. It took some imagination, but Hobbs showed them with vague gestures and delicate language that they stuck in through the back of the neck, crossed behind the throat, missing the major veins and arteries, and protruded under the chin.

Niki swallowed. _Hell of a price to pay for being an ass_. Her words came back to haunt her. "Three days on this thing?" she croaked, trying to ignore Pearce's morbid interest as he ran his hand over the surface, gently stroking the silver stomach-spike.

"At least three days," Hobbs confirmed. "It really depends on how virulent the infection is."

"How exactly does torture cure a viral infection?" Niki said with the grimace still plain on her face. She did not look forward to introducing this ancient machine to the man tied up in the other room.

Hobbs looked almost hurt. "It's not like I _want_ to hurt him. _I_ didn't design this thing, I only built it."

"I understand that," Niki said sympathetically. "I'm just a little curious why torture was decided to be the best method of curing a viral infection."

The barkeep sighed. He'd already gone above and beyond his duty as host in getting involved in this whole thing... But Diego wouldn't appreciate it if one of his employees let a plague loose on the city and ruined business.

"It's fairly simple," Hobbs sighed. "The only thing keeping the immune system from fighting this disease as it would normally is the magic of the Macedonian holy men. The virus, protected by the magic can infiltrate the blood and brain as far as it likes without resistance. The Greeks discovered that the particular magic was similar to the demonic invulnerability whose only weakness was silver. This was the method they devised for filtering the blood at critical points past raw silver, cleansing it of the virus."

Niki frowned as Pearce listened intently, his hand resting appreciatively on the headrest. "Couldn't we just inject —someone— with a liquid silver solution?" the Slayer asked. "Forego the bleeding to death in agony?"

Hobbs shrugged. "Except the silver doesn't kill the virus. And the virus in its non-magical form happens to be fairly lethal. With no immunity to it, considering few people have ever been infected and survived, without bleeding the virus out, there's no chance of survival."

"But," Niki gestured to the table helplessly. "It's so... crude!"

"It's nearly two and a half thousand years old," Pearce argued with something closer to awe in his voice. "Give it the respect it deserves."

Niki sighed resentfully. "Fine."

"Is this it?" Pearce was holding open the ancient-looking volume which had been resting on the table's surface. The vampire gazed at the hand sketches and words scrawled in the margins. Flipping forward he was amazed to find details about the Nosphorus itself, with illustrations of the different stages of ugliness.

"Yeah, that's it," Hobbs nodded. "You wouldn't _believe_ the trouble I went to to get that."

--

Logan continued to twist his wrists in the cord that held them behind his back. Whoever had kidnapped him had left him in some dark room with almost no room to breathe. He'd woken up on his side with his skull throbbing. He'd given up shouting but continued to wrench his hands back and forth in the hopes of either loosening the cord or severing his troublesome hands.

With a click, the door in the utter darkness unlocked and a crack of blinding light tore across the floor. Logan grimaced and squinted into the light at the silhouette that had come for him.

"Wakey, wakey," the almost taunting voice said. "Do you know where you are?"

Logan blinked for a moment in total confusion. "_Pearce?_" he demanded. "Get me the hell out of here!"

The silhouette sighed. "Can't do that, chum, you'd go off infecting every Tom, Dick and Toothy from here to... somewhere else."

"_Infecting_?" Logan's panic was rising. What the fuck was going on? To slow his rapidly beating heart, he took a breath and assumed a calm, rational tone. "What are you talking about?" he asked politely.

"The Plague," Pearce said coolly. "We know you're infected. Your behavior fits perfectly. We're here to cure you."

"My behavior..." the man frowned. "This is ridiculous!" He struggled against his bonds some more. "I'm not infected with anything – Pearce, untie me."

"Nope," the vampire shook his head. "Three days and you'll be as good as new."

"You're shitting me," Logan spat, his anger on par with his panic. "Let me talk to Niki!" Pearce didn't seem to move. "_Let me talk to her now, you son of a bitch!_"

The silhouette stepped back and another form entered the room. By her walk and outline, it was clearly Niki Valtaine. "It's true Logan," she said quietly. "You're infected. It must have happened sometime during the last battle." Logan was shaking his head vigorously. "You wouldn't remember it," Niki said soothingly. "And you don't remember anything you do when you're not yourself."

"I'm not infected," Logan argued reasonably. "I haven't had any blackouts. I think I'm being very rational right now. I think you should recheck your sources, because I'm telling you right now that I'm not infected and..." he thought quickly, anything but rational, "and... I refuse treatment of any kind."

"Don't listen to him," Pearce said calmly. "He has a right to be terrified. But we can't afford to think he's not infected."

Niki only nodded.

Logan's heart began to pound as the crack of light began to shrink. "I'm not sick," he said rationally, his breathing quickening. "I'm _not sick_," he repeated louder as the two stepped out and the door began to close. "_Pearce you piece of shit—I'm not sick!_" He struggled desperately at his bonds. "_I'm not sick! Let me out!_" With a click the door locked again.

Locked again in total darkness, Logan was on the verge of hyperventilating. This was some kind of nightmare. Not only was his former girlfriend going to subject him to some kind of twisted 'cure,' they had kept him from his family for God knows how long... How long would it take to reverse all his hard work these last weeks? How long before Rachel gave up on him?

As the hot, pent up fury built in him, Logan ground his teeth together, feeling suddenly less helpless than he ever had. "You're fucking _dead_," he swore, summoning the dark magic from deep inside him.

The Cure - Act 3

Logan raced down the morning lit street. Yellow taxis and two tone brown cars colored the canyon between high-rises a dismal brown. Pedestrians with umbrellas and long coats scowled at him as he dashed between them away from the bar from which he had just escaped. It wouldn't take more than a minute for anyone to realize he was gone. Then a vampire and a vampire Slayer would be after him.

His breath panted, fogging in the chilled air. His ears and nose were red and his finger tips were numb. Without a look back he pounded down the sidewalk, between the scowling foot traffic and occasionally across the cursing street traffic.

After rounding a corner he shoved a ratty looking street urchin aside and landed himself inside the phone booth. With a hand on the glass and his breath taking too long to calm, Logan picked up the receiver and began searching his pockets for change.

As the numbers came out of his memory and the ringing on the other end started, a calm relief began to settle in. "Hello?" He suddenly felt all the confidence in the world. "Get me Richard Addison, it's an emergency."

--

Pearce unlocked and threw the door to the back room open faster than any human could have. Immediately he fell back inside the bar proper and wrung his seared hand. Bright morning sunlight was streaming in past the rubble, in through the hole in the wall near the ceiling at street level.

Niki slowly moved into the room, her guard up completely. If ever there was need of proof that Logan was possessed by some preternatural viral-imbued strength, the charred and smoking hole through the cinder block wall was it. Expletives and various colorful expressions suggested themselves to the Slayer as she stood in the angular column of light entering the otherwise dark and vacant room, but none seemed completely appropriate.

This, of course, did not stop Pearce from spewing an almost non-stop stream of curses and pseudo-adjectives about the nature of the situation in which they had landed themselves.

The Slayer turned and moved past the vampire, calmly addressing the barkeep who was assessing the damage. "Can I use your phone?"

--

"Listen, Addison, I'm _telling_ you, there's _something_ wrong with your Slayer. She's gone all 'Dr. Death,' making wild accusations and threatening this barbaric torture to anyone who doesn't act within her twisted realm of right and wrong..." There was a pause as Logan listened to the reply. His red face contorted in anger as he heard the response. "What do you mean by _that_? Pearce is on her side! They must be working with Hobbs, that's the only way they'd get to use his bar... unless they've already killed him..."

Logan sighed and rested his forearm against the glass of the phone booth. "I don't know what to do. I can't let them get to my family. Then again, I don't know who I can trust around here—" he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know we don't exactly see eye to eye... Look, Niki and I called it off. I've been back with my family for a couple of weeks now – until your little psychopath and her pet bludgeoned me and hauled me off, convinced I was infected with the _stupid_ plague..."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, _that_ plague. I don't know _why_ the fuck they think I'm infected. They claim I'm acting irrationally — _well you should talk to hormone girl_," he hissed, "maybe _she_ can tell you why she has it in for me!"

"Good," he sighed. Addison was returning from England, admittedly more to ensure Niki was alright than for Logan's sake, but either way, the problem would soon be solved. "I can't go home— they might look for me there and I can't let my family know what's been going on. I'll be staying at a motel. Here's the address—"

Logan looked up as he recited it and waved his hand in annoyance at the street urchin who was gawking through the glass. There was a thin trail of mucus running down the street man's chin and his eyes wouldn't stay still. They seemed to quiver in their sockets.

Logan frowned. "Yeah, okay, I'll be waiting there." And he hung up the receiver, quickly stepping out of the booth, annoyed.

The ratty looking man suddenly snapped out of his world of slavering hunger and two small horns poked out of his toque.

"Not now," Logan sighed in exhaustion, pushing at the invisible force he wielded to throw the demon across the street and onto the hood of a stopped taxi.

--

The next morning, looking weary and unrested, Addison arrived in New York City and deposited his bags on the curb outside his old apartment. Niki Valtaine's apartment. She was waiting and lifted his heavy suitcases with ease.

"It's good to see you," she said sincerely. There wasn't the usual cynicism and amusement in her eyes, nor the hidden resentment she had once felt for this legal guardian. She had the slightly repulsive thought that perhaps she had matured in the last few months. She realized without any kind of juvenile arrogance that she had wanted him out of her life and had got it – and now he was just a person... who might as well be useful.

"What's this I hear of you finally bludgeoning that ponce of a boyfriend?" There was no greeting, none of the expected British politeness, Addison acted as if he had never left.

Niki sighed. "I finally bludgeoned that ponce of a boyfriend of mine. But not before we broke it off and not before I came to realize that Logan Kilpatrick was infected with the Nosphoric plague."

"Hm," Addison nodded thoughtfully. "What makes you think he is one of the infected?" They boarded the elevator, the Slayer setting down the admittedly heavy suitcases.

"He's acting really weird," she said ignoring the raised eyebrows of her former Watcher. "What?"

"Let's see... The adulterous small claims lawyer who fights vampires is acting 'really weird' of late." The doors opened again and they stepped out. "Anything about that seem a little ridiculous to you?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Niki answered resentfully as they approached her door. "I've known him for a long time and I think I know what's normal behavior for Logan Kilpatrick."

"And dumping you is not normal behavior," Addison nodded sympathetically.

Niki scowled. "No, as a matter of fact, it's not—" she caught herself. "And just for your information, _I_ dumped _him_. So don't go thinking this is all about retribution. Though I must admit," she let the little smirk free, "I can't say some part of me isn't relieved that he isn't actually himself."

"So your diagnosis is based on assumption and conjecture?" the Watcher stopped, just inside the door. "Did you ever think to check for bite marks?"

Niki stopped dead. Bite marks. As in – Logan was bitten by the Nosphorus during that last battle – the only place he could have been infected... "Uh... no."

--

Logan's eyes flashed as Addison's taxi pulled away from Niki's apartment. He'd been betrayed. Addison was in on it. He pulled his collar higher around his face to obscure him from unwelcome eyes and moved back into the crowd.

If he was right —and they were all in on it— then they would come for him, to the address Logan had given the Watcher. Then he would know. Then he would have a real problem. As he made his way back to the motel, he thought about everything Niki and he had been through, and even more– what they had been through together. A normal relationship, he understood, was made stronger by adversity... by vampire attacks and demon plagues. Now she was using her world against him and his world. There was something just a little unhealthy about that, the man mused.

He strolled past his room number and headed for the front office, slapping more cash on the counter. "Room 107 smell like a rat died in it. I want room 108." Without more than a scowl, the clerk gave him the desired key and took the extra cash.

And so Logan was waiting in room 108 with the blinds drawn and the door open a crack when Niki and Addison approached room 107. He didn't hear their conversation until they were near, but it was clear Addison was ratting him out.

"Here it is," Addison indicated the room he'd been told contained the possibly infected Logan Kilpatrick. He knocked only twice before opening the door to find it empty. The old man frowned. "Where has he got to?"

Niki, however, was not so naive. One glance at the drawn blinds and she was creeping up to the door of room 108. With a tremendous kick which nearly sent the door off its hinges, she burst into Logan's hiding place.

All that greeted her were shadows.

The Cure - Act 4

"Where the hell is he?" The Slayer strode back out onto the street, shrugging her shoulders in annoyance. "I thought you said he'd be here."

"He obviously came to feel he couldn't trust me," Addison said regretfully. "Coming to you was a mistake."

"If you found him, what would you have done?" Niki demanded. "Lecture at him while he handed you over to the Nosphorus?" Her former Watcher ground his teeth but was silent. "I need a drink," and she was off down the street. "Maybe Pearce has had more luck tracking him down."

Pearce was waiting at the Nail Biter, his mouth still agape. He had returned after a fruitless search of the darkening streets of New York to find the bar empty and the barkeep in his current condition.

As Niki opened the door from the bottom of the steps her face assumed an expression similar to the vampire's. With eyes wide and mouth hanging open she was silent for a long moment. The Watcher, however, felt no such shock. "What the bloody hell is that?"

'That' was a broad dark pool of blood extending across the floor to their feet, directly beneath the upside down body of Hobbs, suspended by his ankles from a flickering light fixture, swinging gently back and forth.

It was clear that the corpse was fresh as the blood stain was still expanding over Hobbs' pale face from his thoroughly lethal neck laceration and dripping in a constant rhythm into the center of the still expanding pool of dark blood.

The flickering of the light bulb near his feet cast intermittent shadows down over his body and alternated the color of the pool between dark red and gloss black.

Niki gulped. Surely Logan hadn't... Had he...? Niki slowly stepped through the growing pool and made her way to one of the back storage rooms. The door to the left was still empty and dominated by the rubble from the hole near the ceiling. The door on the right was now dominated by the rubble of what had been the table Hobbs had set up to cure Logan of the Nosphoric Plague. Among the rubble, the Slayer could find no sign of what she was looking for.

"The book's gone."

--

"Okay," the three walked down the lamp lit sidewalk, the vampire in the lead, "where would a psychotic plague-sufferer go?" The vampire waited for either of the other two to answer and decided to answer his own question. "Where did they go last time?"

"That... warehouse," Niki suggested, her voice still a little subdued. There was really no part of her mind that wanted to believe Logan was acting under his own volition. Then again, without the table or book to reconstruct it, she was confronted with the possibility of having to kill her ex-boyfriend. Neither possibility appealed to her.

"We might as well start there," Pearce shrugged. "But we shouldn't go unarmed."

Thirty minutes later the three were walking very gloomily towards the broad front of the warehouse in which, only a few weeks ago, they had slaughtered the original Nosphorus and his plague-suffering minions.

Out of the several heavy suitcases Addison had brought from London, Niki had taken a small but deadly looking iron mace and long ornate, but assuredly non-mystical, dagger. Addison himself carried nothing but Niki's own shotgun, resting comfortably on his left shoulder as he and the Slayer followed her new Watcher towards the darkened building.

The vampire carried nothing at all but wore an uncharacteristically amusing T-shirt bearing the slogan 'Just Say No' — deciding it would work as well, if not better than nitrous oxide in removing the fear from his attacks.

The three approached the door with a trepidation not felt even before their last visit to this place.

With a tremendous clang, the metal door swung inward into the darkness and slammed against the inside wall. Without fear, Pearce strode inside. His acute senses had already picked up the position of this building's occupants. He and the other two were expected.

As the three moved cautiously between the rows of crates and barrels, only Pearce kept his gaze directly ahead. His eyes picked up the source of the dim glow in the deep darkness. It was directly ahead.

"You think I'm infected," the human croaked, his lips dry and his eyes red. The three rounded the corner and stopped. "You think I have the Nosphoric Plague," Logan said tiredly.

As Niki and Addison took in the sight, Pearce, who had already pieced together what was likely happening here answered. "Yes, we do."

Logan dropped his gaze to the book he held open before him. "'Those suffering from the latent effects of the disease find themselves unable to resist the commands issued them by those in whom the disease is full and active–' in other words: the Nosphorus themselves." Logan slowly closed the book and set it down on a nearby crate. He moved back to the figure sitting tied to the old chair under the only lit bulb in the entire warehouse.

With a gag in his mouth and his ankles, wrists and waist bound to the metal of the chair, the junkie vampire couldn't do more than mumble curses as Logan raised his hands over him and began to recite some words in ancient Macedonian.

"What are you doing?" Addison's voice contained slightly more panic than he had intended to reveal. He lowered the shotgun to Logan's chest level.

"If a plague sufferer has to obey a Nosphorus," Logan explained wearily, as though he were speaking through a nearly debilitating migraine, "then I can show you I'm not a sufferer by creating a Nosphorus and disobeying him."

"You're fucking _insane!_" Niki shouted, stepping past Pearce. "If you _are_ infected, then you'll have just released another Nosphorus on this city!"

"I'm not infected," was the man's simple answer. "And I'll prove it." With his hands again raised over his subject, he closed his eyes and restarted his recitation. Thin threads of electricity danced off his fingernails. The vampire tied to the chair struggled valiantly, mumbling behind his gag.

"Logan, if you don't stop," Addison paused for effect and cocked his weapon, "I _will_ shoot you."

Logan ignored the old man and continued his recitation, the energy dancing over the vampire's head, making his thin greasy hair stand on end.

Niki's heart raced. With the sudden, earsplitting crack of the shotgun, she felt reality slow. _Had Addison just...?_ Surely not. But as the slow progression of reality continued, she felt the wash of light from the business end of the gun to her left and the shower of sparks after it. Cold terror shot up her spine. The sudden premonition of Logan lying on the floor, his body riddled with buckshot fought its way, unbidden into her mind. And just as soon as reality had slowed, it resumed again with the confusion of what happened next.

Pearce was the first to duck as the pellets ricocheted off of the invisible field protecting Logan and his subject – the tiny pieces of metal screaming off into the darkness. In less than a second, Addison cocked his gun again and fired again, lower.

This time, the ricochet brought one of the pellets so close to Niki's cheek that it drew a thin line of blood and a sting of pain. She backed up a step with a frown and touched a finger to her face. Looking back to her ex, she saw the electricity building until, with a flash, it was done.

The three onlookers watched as, quite irate, the vampire in the chair began to thrash in agony. Slowly and quite obviously painfully, his normal vampiric features began to distort and change. His ears became long and bat-like, growing thin and membranous. His nose and jaw drew outward, like a rat and his already pointed teeth became even longer and more needle-like, pointing outward from his broad mouth. With a tearing sound, his new face tore through the gag, the wet hiss of his voice screaming in pain. He struggled futilely against his expertly tied bonds and shrieked as the plagued infiltrated his body.

"Logan," Niki pleased, raising her mace. "Don't do this. Kill it."

Logan ignored her and approached the new Nosphorus. "Tell me something," he requested in his tired, depleted tone.

Niki closed her eyes. Protected by Logan's new found sorcery, they could neither kill the Nosphorus, nor prevent Logan from releasing him.

The Nosphorus shifted in his restraints and looked at Logan with cold hunger. "_Free me._"

Logan leaned in close to the hideous thing tied in the chair. "Bite me."

Taken aback, the Nosphorus turned to the others in the warehouse. He opened his wide rodent mouth and drew a breath to command the truly infected, but he stopped suddenly. His gaze dropped to the stick of wood protruding from his chest. Logan released it just as the Nosphorus dissolved to dust on the seat of the chair, the ropes falling away.

"Proof enough?" the human asked tiredly. He sat heavily down in the chair, dropping his head into his hands. Somehow, it was clear that the shield between him and the others was dissolved.

Niki walked slowly nonetheless, eventually placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "There was another way," she said quietly. Her fingers deftly found his shirt collar and pulled it back on either side, revealing untouched flesh. No bite marks. She let out an ironic sigh. Somehow she wasn't much comforted by his physical health.

--

The walk back was dominated mostly by silence. Addison tried to lighten the mood by explaining how he had had Logan's law firm to contact Rachel and explain how Logan was called away on a sudden, three day trip to Boston, and though Logan was grateful, he was too tired to express it.

The four passed the Nail Biter in silence, Logan completely oblivious to the nervous glances down the steps of the other two. A passing thought was that the book he had lifted from behind the bar while Hobbs wasn't looking was still at the warehouse. But he was much to drained to care.

Back in the shadows of the vast warehouse, a solitary man in a black suit, carrying a black briefcase, lifted the ancient book from the crate where it had been left. With a series of subtle clicks, he opened his case and set the book inside it, closing the case again and moving on silent shoes until he was directly beneath the single light bulb. Reaching towards it, he took the hot glass bulb between his fingers, giving it the gentlest of twists. The light went out.


	7. Power Trip

Power Trip - Act 1

"To destroy the enemy who assails you, you must first destroy the illusions he creates," the master sat serenely in on the floor in the corner of the back room, "and the illusions you create." In the yogic position, his back arched and his legs overlapped, the master sported a thin white Fu Manchu and his eyes remained closed as he spoke. "Illusions are created by desires and they are the source of all suffering."

Niki's fist struck the punching bag with a hard _thump_, driving it into Pearce's supporting arms. The vampire was listening only intermittently to the martial arts master he had hired for the Slayer's training, since he was under a constant barrage of hits from behind the punching bag. _Thump, thump, thump_.

"You must learn to see through the things which only exist in your mind: Only then will you see your true target." The master was speaking calmly, yet his voice carried over the thumping of Niki's warm-up. "Violence does not destroy illusions, but reinforces them, and weakens you." Without a change in his breathing or tone of voice, the master stood. "Before you commit to the way of force, you must know your enemy fully." The master approached the punching bag and drew a long black cloth from his robes, handing it to Pearce. "To know your enemy fully, you must learn to fight where only the truth of your enemy exists: in the dark."

Pearce pulled the blindfold snugly across Niki's face and tied it securely behind her head. With a reassuring pat on her shoulder, he backed away and stood where, a moment ago, the master had been sitting.

"You don't expect me to fight without being able to see?" the Slayer stood with a sardonic shrug and cavalier slouch.

"Not at all," the master said calmly. "I forbid you to fight back." Without a second's hesitation and in a fluid motion, he drove his old but hardened knuckles into her gut.

The Slayer grunted and doubled over, stumbling back. "Wh– what the hell is this?" Just as she stood up again the same fist connected firmly with her jaw and sent her staggering into the back wall. As soon as she had recovered her balance, she leapt forward, directing punches into the air with no clear direction. The master, who was far from her strike zone, crossed his arms and shook his head.

"What is it that you hope to accomplish?" he asked, bringing her attention in his direction. Before speaking again, he silently walked to the opposite side of the room. Within seconds, the Slayer was swinging wildly where he had been standing. "You cannot attack what you have not yet come to see."

Niki crouched low, spinning around to the new direction of her invisible attacker. She carefully made her way towards the voice, keeping her center of gravity low and her fists ready.

"You are blind in the dark; you cannot win," the master assured, stepping aside when he had said this and allowing the Slayer to creep past him. With less than the sound of a breath, he brought his leg in a high arc through the air and caught the back of her skull, sending her face-first onto the floor.

"_Fuck,_" she moaned, rolling over. Still, she didn't remove the blindfold. "What kind of training is this?"

"To whom do you curse?" the master asked, walking thoughtfully away from the Slayer on the floor. "You have no allies here. You but betray your condition to your enemies."

Niki leapt to her feet and assumed a defensive stance, deciding not to advance in the deceptive direction of the voice. With a small bow, the master recognized the lesson that had been learned. Then with a rustling as of wind, he rushed her and drove his knee into her stomach and his elbow into the back of her neck.

With a stifled cry of pain, she fell to her hands and knees at his feet. Without knowing where he had gotten to, she stood again, assuming the same position, but with her arms now guarding slightly lower. The master smiled.

"Excellent. You are learning to see in the dark." And with a merciless swing, he brought his elbow into her ear, sending her sprawling sideways with an involuntary cry of pain.

--

Two and a half hours later, the Slayer shuffled stiffly out of the master's training room and onto the dark street. Pearce followed after, carrying the blindfold she had been instructed to practice with.

"That wasn't so bad," the vampire grinned. "He thinks you're improving." Niki was silent for a long, stiff minute.

"Pearce..." she began trying to be tactful through the ache. "I... I'm never going back there again."

"What are you talking about?" The vampire pleaded. "Master Aizawa is the best kenjutso trainer in all of New York — probably all of America! So he wasn't cheap!"

"Beating the crap out of someone who's blindfolded. No; not cheap at all." Niki slowly made her way down the steps to the door of the Biter. Opening it, she found the bar bustling.

Diego had already found a replacement for Hobbs and the neophyte was already well adjusted and wiping down the bar.

The Slayer and the vampire took their usual seats, surreptitiously examining the new barkeep. Diego's position of never tending bar himself seemed to make a great deal of sense in hindsight, considering the turnover rate of bartenders in this establishment, but this newbie seemed like the last person who would lose a fight.

Standing a full seven feet tall, he was something of a cross between a professional wrestler and a pirate. His bald pate was secured under a black bandana and the left side of his forehead was covered in black, interlocking calligraphy. He had a tuft of black hair on his ample chin and his black canvas jacket hung from his impressive muscles. Niki was hard pressed to call him human and her suspicions were finally confirmed when he looked at the pair, showing his dark red irises. Giving them a smile, he revealed neatly pointed canines – making him almost vampiric in the Slayer's opinion, but a mere thug-demon in Pearce's.

"Let me guess," Pearce thought hard of the line of barkeeps. "Garfield, right?"

The barkeep frowned, a deep and disturbing sight. "Tom," he answered in a deep voice which suited him perfectly. "And I don't know who the hell you gyps are, and I don't give a crap and a half," his face remained completely serious, his hand leaving the cloth on the bar and finding his piece, "but I know what happened to my predecessors—" Tom set his 9mm Magnum Wiley on the bar with a heavy clunk "—and it ain't gonna happen to me."

Niki slowly looked to Pearce who was eying the firearm with envy. The Slayer looked back to the hulk of a man who was glaring pointedly at them. "Okay then, Tom, I'll have a White Russian."

Tom's expression didn't change from one of utter distrust as he poured the drink, setting the small glass before the woman who already seemed to have bruises forming.

Niki took it and drank, leaning over to Pearce to whisper as covertly as she could. "Why do you think he's so popular— I mean, why is business so good tonight?"

"All taps are open," Tom said, his face like a stone carving, "and all tabs are clean." He said it just loud enough for the cheer to go up again, a general toast to the new barkeep.

Just as all were downing their drinks in Tom's honor, the door opened and a general growl ensued, followed by a deep silence. Logan took a seat three stools away from Pearce and Niki, frowning sullenly at his reception. He wore his black turtleneck and jeans and his short blond hair was uncombed. He had dark circles under his eyes. If Niki hadn't looked twice, she might not have recognized him.

Tom lifted his weapon pointedly and clicked the safety off, setting it back behind the bar. The big man then moved down the bar to stand before the hunched lawyer, his entire presence disapproving. "I know who you are," Tom said in a low voice. The entire bar was on the edge of its seat. Tom wouldn't need more than his bare hands to crush the comparative sprite of a man sitting before him.

Niki slowly got to her feet. She wasn't sure of her position, but she was fairly certain she didn't want to be here for this. It took a little effort, but she pulled the rapt Pearce to his feet and dragged him out of the bar, leaving the money on the bar. She never kept a tab.

Tom slowly leaned across the bar which was the only thing separating him from Logan Kilpatrick. "Thanks for opening up this position," he said quietly. "I've had my name on the list for months."

--

Niki dropped into bed with a groan. She didn't care how much master Obi-Wan had cost: She was never training there again. The fact that she had let an old Japanese man mop the floor with her for three hours was almost as aggravating as the fact that he had ended the lesson the first time she had actually blocked a punch combo.

Stretched out on top of her covers, she could see out into the living room where Addison's suitcase full of weapons had been left behind when her former Watcher had returned to London; a gift, he had said. In case anyone else around here got unruly.

Within minutes, she was fast asleep. Outside, the first snow was falling.

Power Trip - Act 2

Pearce slowly laid the girl back on his large bed. He was starting to like this flavor, this desire for him. She wanted it as much as he did. But he wasn't the one about to die.

At first, after he had been cursed, Pearce had been unable to find any good meals. Everywhere he went, people were already terrified of him: destroying his power over them. If they were afraid of him, he couldn't stand to even be near them. One night in front of all the remnants of his gang he had vomited at the terror he inspired in a young couple as they pleaded for their lives in a back alley. After that he changed. The Prince had retired and he had sunk to feeding off prostitutes whom he was forced to knock out first. Soon he was known in those circles and pimps would hire thugs to try and hunt him down.

Now that was all changed. With his new resources, those same pimps were offering up the best of their fang junkies for his own personal collection. Perhaps he was slowly rising back to his position? The vampire scoffed at this thought. Not with the IXI he carried. That was the badge of shame that only he knew about.

He slowly lowered his mouth to her neck and gently kissed her, drawing her warm flesh into his mouth. He could taste her skin, nipping it playfully. She giggled.

With a loud crash, his bedroom door burst inward and four men in black body armor and automatic weapons rushed in, red laser lights playing over him.

"Slowly get out of the bed and get down on the floor," one of the masked figures ordered in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

Pearce sighed with annoyance. "Do you have any _idea_—"

"Get on the floor or we _will_ open fire," the lead figure ordered. The vampire sighed and rolled off the bed onto the floor where he sat with his arms crossed. The four figures approached and one lowered his weapon to speak into a radio.

"We have him, lieutenant," the commando said. Before he had even replaced his radio in his belt, a strutting man marched over the remains of the door and walked between the guns to examine the vampire sitting annoyed on the floor.

"Well, well, well," he said with as much self righteousness as he could muster. "What have we–"

Pearce lifted his arm and his silver bracelet suddenly attracted all the laser lights in the room. Glinting and sparkling with the lasers and the candle light, the bracelet stopped the lieutenant's boasting dead. There was a silence which only the lieutenant and the vampire shared.

"Uh... oh." He sighed and patted the lead commando on the shoulder. "Okay boys, well done... this training session's over. Return to base." There was confused silence for a moment.

"_Training_ session?" someone muttered. The lieutenant turned at the door to shout.

"You _heard_ me! Back to base, _double quick_!" The soldiers hustled out of the room with all the stealth and muscle with which they had entered. The lieutenant stepped backwards over the remains of the door with a sudden apologetic smile. "Sorry about all this... the... uh, Council failed to inform us of your new address." The vampire said nothing, then glanced at his watch, sending the lieutenant out into the living room where he stepped over the remains of the front doors. "Have a good night!" he called out as he left the vampire's condo.

"Damn government agencies," Pearce sighed. Several girls wandered into his bedroom. "It's alright," he reassured, standing and ushering them back to their bedroom. "Everything's fine, back to your rooms." When the last of them was gone, he jumped up onto his bed beside the girl who was now just staring at him with wide eyes. He studied her nervously for a moment. Fear? "It's fine! Everything's—" with an instinct honed since he moved in, he drew the extra covers over her head, twisting so as to appear alone in the bed.

An instant later there came an uncertain knock on the wall beside the doorframe. Niki stepped through with a frown as she examined the broken door. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"No," Pearce laughed loudly, partly because of the ridiculousness of the situation and partly to cover the dissatisfaction of the girl under the covers. "Of course not! I was redecorating."

"Uh, good. Then we should get going..." she examined him as he did the same to her. "I have the location for that gang you tipped me about... sooo... we should get going before it gets light."

Pearce nodded, standing up quickly and moving out of his room, the Slayer in tow. "Good idea. We should go. In fact, we're leaving right now."

"Are you okay?" Niki asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you high?"

"What? No!" he laughed nervously. "Of course not!"

Niki cocked her head. "Stop saying that." As they moved down the hallway, they caught one of the elevators just as the doors were closing. The Slayer and the vampire squeezed in between the many men in black body armor carrying automatic weapons.

"Going down?" one of them asked. Pearce gulped.

When the elevator got to the bottom they all piled out, Pearce dragging Niki as far ahead of them as he could. They skidded through the lobby and out onto the dark streets where the vampire stood panting for a moment.

"Who do you suppose _they_ were?" Niki chuckled, ignoring Pearce entirely.

"_What?_" Pearce jumped. "I don't know, nobody... I have no idea."

Niki shrugged. "Whatever. Let's go, it's this way."

--

The fight broke out the instant they set foot in the alley. These vamps were unlike the usual riffraff of the New York City sewers. They were dressed in robes and all carried identical daggers.

"Shit," Niki hissed as she kicked one in the chest and drove a stake through another, "looks like we walked in on a cult party." She leapt into the air and grabbed a vamp's head with her thighs, using her arms to twist them both down to the ground. Once down she drove a steak into its chest. "Sorry to intrude," she winced as he turned to dust.

As they battled, even Pearce noticed that the majority of the vamps were abstaining from the fray in order to stand around a figure tied to a chair at the back of the alley. He was curious enough about this, but he had enough to deal with considering even the minority of the cult of vampires still consisted of at least twenty.

Niki, on the other hand, managed to fight her way towards the back of the alley, jumping above the watching, robed figures, onto the balcony of the fire escape. From there she could watch the amusing fighting tactics of her partner and the figure of importance tied to the chair below.

The Slayer didn't recognize her but she was obviously in distress. By this time, Pearce had fought his way towards the group that was just standing around and when the Slayer dropped down on top of them, he sprang into action again.

Niki did her share of staking, but when the opportunity presented itself, she grabbed the gagged figure and pulled her through a doorway into one of the adjacent buildings. It was quite dark. By feel alone, Niki set the woman down, removed her gag and began untying her bonds.

"Thank you," the woman hissed, keeping her voice down as shouts went up among the vampires that their prize had been stolen. "You have to get me out of here." The Slayer took the unidentified woman's hand and led her deep into the maze of unlit cubicles and reception desks. Soon they found a hallway which was still lit. Crouching by the end of it, the woman pulled the Slayer into a rough embrace. "Thank you so much."

"Who are you?" Niki asked, pulling away and getting a good look at the woman. "Do you know why they were after you?"

"My name is Nancy Hatt," the woman said trying to slow her breathing down again. "I came here on a business trip a couple of months ago... just last night I was attacked by those creeps out there and they've been interrogating me ever since."

"What did they want to know?" the Slayer asked, her fingers tight on her stake.

"They were looking for this," she slid her hand into her suit jacket and lifted a large silver medallion. "I don't think they thought I'd be stupid enough to carry it on me. But that's just what I was counting on— you see if I'd left it my hotel room, they would have found it—"

"Wait a minute," Niki stopped her with a gesture, two pieces connecting in her memory. "Nancy Hatt... from _Birk and Hatt_?"

Nancy's expression didn't change. "Yeah, why?"

Niki blinked. "Nothing, go on."

"I don't really know what it is," Hatt went on. "My crew found it in an open pit mine in Argentina a year ago... it didn't take long to figure out what it did."

"What _does_ it do?" the Slayer squinted at the silver disk engraved with a circle crossed by three spears.

"This." Hatt held the amulet tightly and reached for the door handle on the nearest door. With no effort at all, she tore the knob from the door and brought it back to the Slayer so she could see more clearly. Without hesitation, she crushed the steel knob to dust in her hand.

Niki blinked. "Ah. _That_ kind of medallion."

"Here," Hatt stuck the silver thing in the Slayer's palm. "You need this more than I do."

Niki's eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure?"

"Sure," Hatt said with a hint of sudden suspicion. "You _are_ the Slayer, right?"

Niki was thrown off guard. "Uh, yeah. How'd you know that?"

Hatt scoffed. "My business partner was a jackass demon: I picked up a thing or two over the years." The two stood and began to make their way back towards the door to the alley. "Anyway, your friend out there needs you; go help him."

Niki's frown was stuck on her face as she left the woman in the darkened office lobby. "Um... sure."

Upon jumping back into the battle, however, she realized how difficult it must have been for Hatt to give up her precious find: With a single punch, she drove her fist through one of the remaining vamps' rib cage and out past his spine. She looked at the thing stuck on her arm with a wide grin. "Fuckin' A!"

Power Trip - Act 3

Panting, Niki looked around at the carnage she had created. A thought sprang into her mind. A game. Her favorite game. Find the heart; pierce the heart. The tremendous surging power that spread from the amulet to every corner of her Slayer's body was beyond Stuff, beyond sex, beyond her wildest, drug-induced dreams. Given sufficient motivation, she felt as though she could have crushed the planet she was standing on.

"Knicks," Pearce said, also panting, but more from exertion than thrill. "How... how the hell did you do that?"

Niki spun around to grin broadly at the one remaining vampire in the alley. Find the heart, pierce the heart. She advanced on him, her breathing fast and furious.

Pearce blinked. "Niki, stop." The Slayer stopped dead in her tracks. She frowned. Find the heart...? She shook her head to clear the clouding there. Looking down at the amulet she still clutched in her fist, she blinked.

"Wow," she said with some awe. "I mean... wow."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Hatt stepped out of the still dark building over the piles of death and undead. "I knew you were the one to use it. I knew when I heard there was such a thing as a Slayer."

Pearce wasn't so sure. "Niki," he said calmly, extending his hand, "why don't you give it to me. There's such a thing as too much of a good thing."

Niki scoffed. "Is this too much of a good thing?" she indicated the many not-quite-slain vamps whose hearts awaited her stake. "You'd probably be dead if it wasn't for this thing."

"She's right," Hatt defended.

"Who are you?" Pearce demanded, turning his attention to the woman, but keeping his hand outstretched.

"Nancy Hatt. Geological consultant," the woman said defensively.

"Demon?" Pearce prodded. They had dealt with exactly enough demon geologists.

"No. I worked with one though." She frowned. "We came to New York together. I still can't find him."

"Tragic," Pearce dismissed, "I expect you'll forget about him eventually."

This caught Nancy's attention. "You've met him, then?"

"Not that I recall," Pearce shrugged, taking a step closer to Niki. "Niki, as your friend and Watcher, I'm telling you to give me the medallion."

"My friend and— _What?_" she recoiled with a look of disgust. Her eyes searched for the meaning of what he had just said. Finally, she realized he was correct. Ever since Addison had left... it just made too much sense. "Ugh!" she grimaced. "Oh _God_," there was really no end to the revulsion that the statement evoked. Perhaps it was that the medallion amplified things, or just that he seemed so perfectly correct all of a sudden that she wanted to throw up. In either case, she relinquished the medallion to his outstretched hand. Shuddering inwardly at the thought that she was, for possibly the first time in her life, complying with her Watcher. As soon as her fingers left the silvery surface, the revulsion died down somewhat. She was now only mildly grossed out. Still, she shivered for effect.

Pearce, ignoring the blatant insult of Niki's near sickly state, led the two women out of the alley. Before he had a chance to fully feel the effects of the medallion he had confiscated, he slipped it safely into his pants pocket. This was going to take some doing.

--

Logan was deeply, if morosely engrossed in his book, his black turtleneck and jeans betraying his less than social mood.

"Dark magic?" Tom asked, sliding a simple lager towards the man.

"State law," the man explained, holding up the spine of the thick volume. "I do actually have a job, you know."

"Course, course," big Tom nodded, "you do pay me after all." He laughed a little, but Logan didn't share the joke. "What's the matter?" he frowned (a disturbing sight). "Why're you moping around here? You've got a family an' all that, right?"

Logan's troubled look increased. Tom caught on and nodded gravely. "Oh, I see. Trouble in paradise?"

"My daughter won't talk to me anymore," Logan said distantly, trying to concentrate on the words on the page. He looked up and stared at the rows of bottles against the mirror behind the bar. "She sees right through me."

"Mmm," Tom nodded. "I've had family troubles myself lately," he said quietly, leaning in closer. He eyed the nearby customers to make sure they weren't listening. "I'm afraid I might have smothered my own daughter in attention. Anytime she wanted something, I was there." Logan seemed to frown though he grew interested and leaned in, sharing the conspiracy. "Soon she figured out I was guilty about something," Tom said sadly. "Loved her too much, I did," He opened his mouth to go on, but the Biter's door burst open and Niki and Pearce burst in "—and then I bit her head off," Tom said loudly and suddenly, "... and showed it to her." His eyes shifted uncertainly as the other customers seemed as disinterested as ever.

Niki frowned, not sure what that story had been about, but relatively sure it wasn't appropriate for Logan to hear. Drawing the barkeep's attention from the again sullen man, she sat at the far end of the bar. "Barkeep," she commanded, "I want some Stuff."

Tom obliged and poured some amber liquid into a scotch glass and sprinkled in some of the white powder that was often the only thing that made Niki feel like a Slayer. Not today, however. Today she had rediscovered what a Slayer was meant to feel like. With some of the revulsion she had felt at the thought of Pearce being her Watcher, she acknowledged with a perverse smirk that the thing which made her feel alive was tucked away in Pearce's pants. Maybe it wouldn't even seem so perverse with some alcohol in her. Anything was possible. The arousal that slaying caused in her was amplified by the medallion and would soon be amplified again by the drug. She downed the drink without a second thought. In less than ten seconds, she had taken Logan by the arm and was leading him to a room in the back.

"Nice try, by the way," Pearce said offhand to the barkeep once she was out of earshot.

Tom, who was dropping some ice into Pearce's water, bitterly raised an eyebrow. "Eh?"

"The government agency you sent after me," Pearce made a spiteful smile and nodded. "Well played."

"Don't know what you mean," Tom said as if to end the conversation, but Pearce just kept on going.

"Don't try and deny it. Who are you working for? Fetters? Mault? I don't remember you personally from the old days." He drank the water and wished it was something else. Then again, he hated getting drunk in public. It was simple humiliation that lost him his title of Prince.

"Couldn't say," Tom shrugged. "Don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"Some government agency," Pearce explained, "busted down my doors, thought I was some two bit vampimp." The term made Tom smirk. Pearce noticed and nodded. "Yeah, ha ha. You owe me new doors."

"Wouldn't know what you're talking about," Tom continued to deny everything, serving a nearby customer without ever having met the vampire's gaze. When the customer was served, Tom returned to the accusing vampire. "The Council's been out of contact for a while. Without them directing things... agencies get a little mixed up."

"Or maybe tips from meddling barkeeps get them a little mixed up," Pearce suggested acidly. Leaning forward to catch Tom's full attention, the vampire glanced around to ensure neither Niki nor Logan were around. "Listen... _buddy_," the vampire said between gritted teeth. "What I do in my own apartment is my own business. If I want to have a little party... have a few people over, that's _my_ business. If they want a little action — that's between me and _them_. Got it?"

"Between you and them?" Tom inquired. "Is the Slayer ever at your parties?" He looked over the vampire's shoulder in the direction Niki had gone. "Maybe she just didn't get the invite..."

Pearce took the enormous Tom by the lapels and had to kneel on his bar stool to get into the tall demon's face. "Is that a threat?"

Tom shrugged, effectively freeing himself of the vampire's grip. "Why? Did you find it threatening?"

Pearce sat back on the stool with a thunk. "I'm watching you," the vamp said coldly.

--

Logan grunted as he was shoved against the back wall of the dim back room. When the Slayer came at him, he wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Niki wanted to do a bit of each. Certainly more than kill him... and definitely more than kiss him. Words like Rat Bastard and Jerkoff were rolling off her tongue as she approached him, horny and resentful. She had dumped him, true, but he was taking it fairly well, wasn't he? And he had a life to go back to. She had never realized how much of her life Logan had occupied.

When her hot body finally got to his, however, he had had time to compose himself. With a strength unknown to most of his gender, he resisted her, as if she were his cousin coming on to him. Prying her body from his, he staggered several paces away, failing to prevent a contemptuous expression from crossing his face.

Niki raised her eyebrows with a flare of fury. "Is that how it is?" she demanded. "I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Logan frowned and backed away, his arms up defensively, not sure what kind of drugs she was on, since Stuff generally didn't do this. Before he could even offer a consoling argument, she landed her fist between his eyebrows and sent him unconscious to the floor. Her blood pounded and her muscles twitched. She needed to kill something. Something undead.

Tom looked over Pearce's shoulder as the Slayer approached, her eyes shifting quickly in their sockets. Pearce followed the barkeep's gaze and with a spike of pain was enveloped in darkness.

Power Trip - Act 4

Pearce woke up with a groan. Tom and Logan were looking down at him quizzically. He made a little noise of confusion, searching his throbbing brain for a memory of what happened. Then the image of the Slayer's fist screaming towards his face explained it to him. "Ugh, oh yeah."

Logan helped the vampire to his feet, Tom taking the opportunity to ignore the vampire completely and going back to cleaning dishes.

"What's up with her?" Logan asked, a hint of concern slipping through. "She's all hot and bothered then wham, I'm out like a light.

Pearce was about to shrug it off to 'girl stuff', then his hand slid into his pocket. It was gone. "Oooh... Shit."

--

Niki dropped into the sewer with a splash. The darker the hole, the bigger the rats. That was something Niki had noticed about New York City. Rats, in this case, being the blood-sucking undead. Indeed, in this pitch black sewer she could smell the general bigness of the bad guys.

A large thing moved towards her. It wasn't looking at her, but cocking its head back and forth in the darkness, feeling the way the air moved about the newcomer. Smelling her presence. "It's a person," the thing hissed gleefully, its voice just audible and seeming to come from all around. "It's a girl person!"

"Let's have it then," hissed another voice, coming from nowhere and yet from the other side of the sewer. "I want the leg parts. You know I like the leg parts."

"Mm, I haven't had a girl person in so long," the first thing whispered, "I nearly forget what they taste like."

"You're all going to die," whispered Niki in the same tone of voice, a vicious grin plastered on her face in the darkness. There was a dead pause for a long moment as the two things tried to sort out who was talking. "You're going to die now," the Slayer continued in a thin hissing voice.

"What kind of person did you say it was?" the second whisper asked politely.

There was an uncertain pause as the first thing sniffed and swayed back and forth, trying to discover what kind of girl person hadn't yet fainted in terror. "It's a girl person," the first whisper confirmed. "Let's kill it now," it advised.

Niki leapt from the shallow water as the two things moved towards her. They made no noise through the water, but their motion was unmistakable. The stench of them grew with proximity, each with its own particular odor and their size seemed to increase to fill the whole of the sewer.

The Slayer was in the air only scant instants but the two sewer things had closed in on where she had been and when she began her descent, she landed on the first of the whisperers. Through her boots, it felt soft and gelatinous, but the thin wiry hairs sticking up were poking into her jeans and at her midriff under her white shirt. The whisperer she was standing on let out a hiss of distaste.

With the flash of an evil smile, Niki fell to her knees on the top of the thing and drove her flattened hand through the flesh. She reached through rubbery flesh up to her shoulder, but finally found one of its internal organs and let her nails do some damage.

The surface on which she rode began to buck and sway as the whisperer in the sewer felt its insides being torn apart. "It hurts, it hurts," the whisperer hissed, spitting across the inside of the sewer. "Kill it, kill it."

Niki had satisfactorily shredded what she could reach of the creature's insides when a hand-like appendage grasped her around the waist and dropped her back into the water on the sewer floor. Before she knew it, the same hand-like thing was pressing her against the wall of the sewer, intent on crushing her. "Take off one of the leg parts. You know I like the leg parts." Niki felt another hand-thing grasp her right leg and begin to pull.

With a vicious snarl, she brought her arms around the hand-thing pressing her against the wall, closing her arms like a noose, slicing with her bare hands the entire thick appendage. There was the sound of the second whisperer spitting and the other hand dropped off her leg.

"It stings, it stings," the second whispered. "Kill it, kill it."

Niki saw through the dark and ducked low as some sort of spine-covered tentacle swept through the air where her head had been. She dropped to the floor as it swept back, lower, and as it began to make another pass, she found its base where it sprouted from the jelly-like thing, and whirled it like a mace against its owner. She had only the spitting sound to tell her she had hit something vital. The things were gradually moving away from each other, increasing the space she had to work within the sewer.

"Where are you going?" the first hissed. "Where are you going, where are you going, where are you going? Kill it, kill it, kill it." Its whispers were urgent as Niki flogged its face with the spiked tentacle. The other thing in the sewer was quietly slinking back to its place in the darkness. A place where no girl persons could make it sting.

"Had enough?" Niki whispered sinisterly. She tightened her grip on the tentacle and tore it from its body. One hand still clutched the medallion tightly. The thrill was incredible. She reached out and felt her fingers brush across a smooth moist orb of some kind. An eye.

"I want no more, I want no more," the thing hissed. "I will flee."

"Sorry, I wasn't offering to let you go. I just wanted to know how much more you could take." Her fingers crushed the orb as a high pitched keening filled the sewer. An ooze covered her fingers as she pushed deeper and found the thing's deepest organ. Then she was blinded.

The shaft of artificial light stabbed down into the darkness from the opened manhole. The keening stopped and Niki squinted up into the light. Looking back, she found she was reaching out at nothing. The whisperer was gone, leaving nothing but the goo on her hands and its shorn tentacle on the sewer floor.

"Niki," Pearce said with a deadly seriousness from the manhole above, "come up here... _now_."

--

Niki sat sullenly tied to a chair in one of the back rooms of the Nail Biter. The medallion sat wrapped in a dish towel on the bar as Logan, Pearce and Tom whispered among themselves what to do with the power hungry Slayer.

Niki sighed inwardly. Slayer strength, Scotch, Stuff and that medallion had awoken the most primitive, primal self inside her she had ever conceived. It was a high that the hardest, purest narcotic couldn't come close to. Killing made it better. Causing suffering made it sweeter. Feeling pain made it richer. Just existing was pure ecstasy. And now it was gone. Her mind concocted all sorts of reasons to get it back.

It was her job to kill things.

Addison would want her to have it.

She would do things for them if they let her have it.

–She would give them money.

—She would give them sex.

—–She would give them a chance to use the medallion itself...

Not now. Not yet. She needed it now. Maybe later. Maybe then.

Her mind raced, dredging up more and more reasons for them to let her loose, to let her have it. If she still had it, she wouldn't care about these cords. She could break through steel. She could break through... She wanted it. She. Need.

--

Logan shook his head. "She doesn't look good. I don't think we can risk untying her... for a while."

"We can't keep her here forever," Pearce cautioned.

"No, you certainly _can't_," Tom agreed. "I want your psycho Slayer out of my bar by closing time." They both shot the barkeep a look.

"Let me talk some sense into her," Logan said amicably. "She's been addicted to worse than a medallion."

"She still is," muttered the vampire.

Logan shrugged at the comment and made his way to the back of the bar and the room in which he himself had been held captive only weeks ago. Opening the door, he found Niki sweating in the chair in the center of the room.

"Knicks," he said gently. "I want you to tell me exactly—"

"Fuck me," she said suddenly. There was a pause and Logan cocked his head uncertainly.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I want you to shove your—"

"_Okay,_" Logan said, turning on his heel and marching straight out of the room, catching the last of the sentence to inspire his imagination. The door closed firmly. The man marched back to the bar and plunked himself down beside the vampire. "I would like a drink please," Kilpatrick said politely to Tom. "She," he said to Pearce, "needs to get over some other addictions first."

Pearce rolled his eyes and made his way to the back room. "You obviously have no experience with interventions," he called over his shoulder. Upon opening the door, he took in the sight of the shivering, sweating Slayer tied to the chair in the center of the room, looking very small.

"Please," she whispered. "Just give it back. I won't do anything wrong, I promise." She sounded small and weak, her voice thin and desperate. As the vampire approached, she scrunched her eyes closed and tried to curl up on herself.

"Why do you want it so badly?" Pearce asked, leaning in close so that he could speak as quietly as she.

"Because I want it," she whimpered.

"What makes you better when you have it?" he asked, leaning in closer and speaking even more quietly.

"I'm a better Slayer," she mouthed, her eyes tightly shut to block out everything but what he was saying. Her blood was ice cold. Her muscles were weak and she could only feel their existence at all if she contracted herself completely. _Give it back, give it back, give it back..._

"I'll give it back," Pearce whispered almost inaudibly into her ear, "if you can take it from me." He took her hand firmly and pressed his own hand into it, interlacing their fingers to give her hand a tight squeeze. Her eyes opened at his proposition.

Pearce released her hand and drew the long black blindfold from his back pocket. Her eyes widened. "If you can take it, you can have it," he admitted, "because you think it will make you a better fighter." He drew the blindfold over her face and tied it securely behind her head.

Reaching down to the cords which tied her to the chair, he quickly undid them. Instantly she leapt to her feet and assumed a defensive stance, her clenched fists white and trembling. She lashed out, swinging through the air as the pounding of her heart told her where the vampire might be.

Pearce side stepped the blows easily. Lashing out silently, he struck her right shoulder, sending her skidding to one side. She threw a kick in his general direction, but he was no longer there. With a vicious punch, he jabbed her kidney and had her doubled over, at which point he drove his elbow into her spine.

With a cry of pain, she fell to the floor and curled herself into a protective ball, her clenched fists covering her eyes. Shivers racked her body and she whimpered.

Pearce slowly knelt by the ball of Slayer. "Niki," he said gently, touching her shoulder and feeling her cringe in the dim light. "Niki, do you still want it?"

"Yes, please," she begged. "Give it to me, I'll... I'll be a better fighter, just give it to me."

"Niki, it won't make you a better fighter–"

"Yes it will, it has, it does, it—"

"_Knicks_," he said forcefully. "It's been in your right hand the whole time." Whether she heard him or not was unclear. The Slayer began to shiver uncontrollably.

--

Three days later Logan wrapped the silver medallion in a dish towel and placed it at the bottom of the drawer of odds and ends in Niki's kitchen. She would never look there. Even if she did. It didn't have any magical powers. They all knew that now.

Wherever Nancy Hatt had gone, not even Tom's contacts could find her, but she had apparently been out to dupe them all: With a great deal of research, Pearce had been led back to the conclusion that the medallion was nothing but an ancient silver ward against evil and Niki's problems were rooted solidly in simple substance abuse.

Logan walked from the kitchen to the doorway of the Slayer's bedroom where he could see Niki sleeping quietly. Stuff, as she had been told many times before, was derived from the toxin secreted by a particularly nasty demon. Years of use had eventually led her to a dependence and tolerance of it and a sudden, if accidental, overdose at the Nail Biter led her to believe the medallion had supernatural powers.

Pearce had reluctantly been forced to accept that her display of force in the alley was entirely psychologically induced from the belief that the medallion had made her super powerful. The Stuff had done the rest.

Supervised recovery would take several days, so Logan and Pearce were taking turns, day and night, watching over her. Logan sipped his coffee and plunked himself down on the couch in front of the television. He had no idea how he was going to explain this to his firm, and he felt a little disturbed that it bothered him less and less that he missed work. He sipped his coffee again and prepared for the day.

--

Pearce stood amid the trashed bookshelves and shattered furniture of his condo. He was slowly shaking his head from side to side in fury. Each and every one of his girls was gone. He fumed. "Son of a—"


	8. Prince of Pierce

Prince of Pierce - Act 1

Tom stretched his colossal shoulders and his black canvas shirt strained against the bulging muscles. He was at home with unleashed power, he made no attempt to hide that. The bigger things were, in general, the happier he was as a person... well, demon. There was no reason demons shouldn't be happy. But this made Tom uncomfortable and he had a hard time hiding that: he didn't like fragile things. The only thing that made him more uncomfortable than fragile things was fragile things that he mustn't break. He wasn't very good at that.

The young girl with the bandages across her face was fragile. She also mustn't be broken. Diego had introduced the new barkeep to her stating that she was integral to his new career. How a seer was integral to serving drinks, Tom had yet to learn. For his part, he would much rather put this girl on a high shelf somewhere where he wouldn't break her. Still, the titan of a demon sat on the uncomfortably narrow playground swing, making the crossbar above them creak under his weight.

"Have you come to play with me?" she asked sweetly.

The girl swayed gently back and forth, contemplating. She had the look on her face of looking curiously at something. This was most certainly not the case, as the white gauze bandages wrapped tightly around her eyes attested. As happened with so many seers before her, who began having their visions at a premature age, she had gouged out her eyes to end them, to the great distress of her parents. The psychiatric institution to which she had been committed was one of the best in the state, and she had no shortage of visitors.

"I... I don't play," Tom answered hesitantly. The truth was he did play. He even played with girls like her. She, however, would likely not survive the kind of play he envisioned. "I've come to ask you about your dreams."

The nine year old became inwardly drawn and silent. After a long uncomfortable silence during which Tom had the overwhelming urge to leave, the girl swallowed. Her hands gripped the chains of the swing tighter and she turned to face him, as if she could see him through the gauze. It was fortunate for her that she could not, since at that moment Tom shrugged, a disturbing sight.

"I had another last night," she whispered fearfully. She didn't wait for him to reply: she could tell he wasn't the talkative sort. "In it, it was dark... but it's always dark in _those_ dreams." She was quiet for a little while, recalling the nights she could remember when her dreams had been happy ones. Rivers and forests. Not concrete and death.

"Tell me," Tom prompted.

The girl swallowed. "There was a man —a bad man— he had a sword. He put his sword through people and other men were there and they laughed." She licked her dry lips and glanced away from the frowning Tom. "He was a king or a duke or something."

Tom's face was a mask of confusion. _This was the seer? He'd read better premonitions in his tea leaves._ Without a sound, he stood and turned to leave. To his complete astonishment, he felt her hand on his own and he stopped. As soon as he turned to face the child on the swing, the world swung sickeningly out of reality.

Tom stood in the clearing of a park. From the buildings behind the trees, he could tell it was Central Park. Tom was lost in confusion for several seconds before his limited experience told him he was seeing the seer's vision.

A dark figure stood nearby, surrounded by uncounted other dark figures. The smell of vampire was overwhelming. Tom swallowed. He supposed that in a vision he was perfectly safe, but he didn't care to test that. As the vision commenced, Tom frowned.

At the vampire's feet, on her knees, was a girl with her hands tied behind her back. She was bruised and bleeding to the leers of the surrounding crowd of fangs. The lead figure wielded something that was not at first recognizable to the barkeep. No one had ever come after Tom with a kenjitsu katana before.

With a gentle whoosh, the figure brought the blade through the air and stopped it inches before the neck of his captive. There were laughs from the crowd as the girl's breath caught. The figure stood back with satisfaction, then with a snarl of unparalleled cruelty, he drove the blade with his palm through the girl's throat.

Tom blinked. It had been a while since he had seen anything like _that_. Then the figure turned, putting all thoughts of the good old days out of the demon's head. The Prince of Pierce's eyes glinted in the lamplight; yellow with vampiric hunger. His face was contorted. The girl on the ground with the blade in her throat gurgled for an agonizing moment. Before she was silent, the crowd descended on her. Pierce closed his hands into fists and looked down at them with a broad grin.

Tom took in a breath. Then the darkness of the park melted away and he was looking at the girl on the swing with the look in her eyes that he couldn't quite make out.

--

Niki slowly swirled the pale golden liquid around the bottom of her nearly empty glass. With a resigned sigh, she let her head sag forward, letting the white pompom roll around from the back of the fuzzy red hat and flop against her forehead. Tis the season.

"More?" Tom held up the bottle of golden liquid. It never seemed to get emptier. This odd fact, however, did not prevent Niki from getting drunker. The Slayer shook her head, placing her hand over the glass.

"I really shouldn't," she sighed. "It's not good to drink alone."

"Where's that lawyer friend of yours?" Tom asked innocently, ducking his head as he walked down the bar to avoid bumping into one of the hanging lights.

"Probably sitting down to a nice..." Valtaine winced, "_dinner_ with his lovely wife and _precious_ daughter." She snatched the glass from the bar's surface and emptied it.

"What did happiness ever do to you?" Tom asked with a raised eyebrow. He set the bottle down and the vial of white powder beside it.

Niki glared at him. "It went out for a pack of smokes and never came back," she said cynically. Pointing to the glass she barked, "Fill it."

Once she had settled back into her fuzzy-red-capped depression, she calmed down. "I suppose Pearce will be along anytime now, though. Poor bastard. No life whatsoever."

Tom shifted uncomfortably. He knew this was going to come up eventually. It was for exactly this reason, he supposed, that Diego made his barkeeps visit the seer. It's always best to know about potential customers before they decide they're thirsty.

"You know..." Tom began with a frown. He wasn't really sure how one did this sort of thing. "How much do you really trust that vampire?"

This caught Niki by surprise. Her eyes shifted uncertainly for a moment as she tried to reach into her haze of memory to make sure she had just heard what she thought she had. "Uh... not much. Why?"

Tom sighed. He was botching this up, that was for damn sure. "Don't," he said simply.

"Don't?" Niki squinted at the play of shadows above the hanging light that was Tom's face.

"Don't trust him. He's evil." Tom assumed the conversation was over and he commenced dragging the rag across the bar's surface.

"And...?" prompted the Slayer. "Practically everyone I know is evil. That doesn't change much."

Tom shrugged a particularly disturbing shrug. "I mean don't trust him because he kills people. He _will_ kill people." The barkeep was struggling.

Niki was frowning. "Pearce? Psh. He's harmless. Cursed, you know?" She sipped her drink. "Can't even make the face. Couldn't even scare a corpse to death."

Tom was shaking his head with frustration when the Nail Biter's door opened and the devil of whom they spoke marched in. The barkeep's hand moved of its own accord. He found the Magnum Wiley stored under the bar and in a ramrod straight arm aimed it at the vampire at the door. "Out," the demon ordered.

Pearce's look of utter befuddlement met nothing but the hard glare of the demon behind the bar and the unconcerned look of a drunken Slayer. With hands raised inoffensively, he backpedaled out of the bar and trudged morosely up the stairs onto the street.

--

Cold and thirsty, Pearce wandered down dark deserted streets. He'd have liked to find some hookers, but he had no cash on him. It had been foolish of him to rely on the Council for credit. Now that they were out of contact, he was on his own and his girls were gone. None of the pimps who had been his best friend a month ago would give him the time of night now.

"You're lost," a calm voice said from the shadows.

Pearce continued walking. "No, I'm hungry, so it's you who should get lost." He stuffed his hands into his denim jacket and trudged on.

"The Prince has lost his throne," the voice went on. It seemed to get no further away, even though Pearce kept walking, and there were no sounds of footfalls. "Do you wish it were otherwise?"

Pearce stopped at the word 'wish' and grated his teeth. It didn't sound like Fetters or Mault or any of the others, but it had been a long time since he had heard his old gang. The vampire opened his mouth to say something foul, but couldn't think of anything. This very fact stung. "Go away," he said at last, moving forward down the street. The voice would not be dissuaded.

"What would you say," the voice went on, calm and unamused, "if I were to offer you something more precious than all the working girls in the world." When Pearce did not stop and did not answer, the voice took on the sound of a smile. "What if I were to offer to reverse the wish?"

Pearce stopped. He licked his lips. "Go on."

Prince of Pierce - Act 2

Logan was very quiet. He was very different. He had taken to wearing his black, wool turtleneck and jeans when he met with the Slayer, though she knew for a fact he still wore his brown blazer and khakis to work. He was not particularly happy that she had called. He had been riding the roller coaster that was their shared life for longer than even the thrill seekers would call healthy. He scratched one eyebrow with his pinkie finger irritably. She shouldn't have called him at his house. Rachel was just beginning to trust him again. Things were normal at the Kilpatrick house again. Hanna was speaking to him. She shouldn't have called.

"I _wouldn't_ have called," Niki admitted. Beyond the bitterness she harbored for him and his perfect life, she did experience the annoying guilt for perhaps having ruined the life of a perfectly good wife and perhaps now emotionally scarred daughter. "It's just that if Pearce really is a danger... well, he knows where you live," she looked genuinely concerned for Logan and his family, and she hoped he could tell.

"Me and my family are just fine, thank you very much," Logan replied as if she had touched a tender spot. "Pearce is cursed: he couldn't kill time, let alone innocents."

Niki sighed. She knew he was right. She had no answer as to why Tom had been so concerned about the harmless vampire, except that barkeeps of the Nail Biter were traditionally dead if they couldn't see dangerous people coming. "I know," she said simply. "I just thought you should be warned," her eyes shifted uncomfortably, "...in person."

Logan blinked. He could smell that she had been drinking. That meant she had been using. That meant she had been slaying. Which of course meant that she wanted him. Grinding his teeth, he stood and walked to the door of her apartment. "Thanks for the warning," he said curtly.

"Wait," Niki stood so fast her head was spinning. That and the alcohol made her promptly collapse back onto the couch. "What are we going to do about Pearce?"

Logan didn't slow his pace. "If he comes after my family," he said, opening the door, "I'll make him wish he'd never been born." The door closed with loud finality.

--

_October 10, 1980_

Pierce raised the glass to his lips. The warmth of the freshly spilt blood filled his cold mouth. His cohort cheered, raising their own wine glasses, filling their own cold mouths with the same freshly spilt blood. The cheers almost covered the muffled wails of terror coming from the other room.

The Prince leaned back in his simple chair. It was a simple house, after all. Those for whom there weren't enough wine glasses had to drink their blood from water glasses or mugs. These people obviously didn't entertain much.

On the good linen, staining the white tablecloth, their hostess lay staring blankly at the ceiling. Her arm lay above her head, across the Prince's plate from which he had drawn the first and last of her precious blood. Even vampires had class.

He was eternally grateful for the Japanese and their Feng Shui: People would actually invite whole groups of strangers into their homes to rearrange their furniture for them. And why not stay for dinner? Pierce smiled. They hadn't gotten around to moving the chesterfield yet, but that could wait.

The wailing in the other room rose to a panicked scream as Mault dragged the young woman from the living room into the dining room where she saw her older sister on the table. As her screaming continued, Mault raised his hand and struck her hard, sending her down onto the floor with a whimper.

"P- Please..." she begged, falling to her stomach as Pierce rose from his chair and approached her. "D- do- don't kill me– please!"

The Prince slowly knelt and took the young woman by the arm, lifting her from her prostrate position and lifting her to her knees. He took her chin and lifted her tear stained and makeup streaked face to look at him. His own face, now in human form, drew close to hers and he closed his eyes, inhaling the deep scent of her fear. It made him giddy.

"Ah, terror," he drew back and laughed to his inferiors who laughed with him. They knew his sadism was unparalleled in the city and his ability to avoid the Slayer was legend. No one who ever served the Prince had ever been slain. It was worth enduring his theocratic inclinations.

With a nod to his second in command, Fetters, he turned his attention back to the second course. Terror. There was nothing more intoxicating. He gently drew the woman to her feet and maneuvered her trembling form back to the wall. Placing his hands on her stomach, he pressed himself against her against the wall. His voice was quiet, his lips near her ear. Whatever he said, it inspired such terror in her that her mouth hung open and she was unable to scream.

Fetters handed the Prince the dagger and Pierce took it in his hand behind his back, concealing it from the view of its next victim.

With a rush that couldn't be beaten; couldn't be described by mere language, he drove the dagger into the quivering mass of terrified flesh. Even as he felt the warmth surround his fingers, then his hand, then his wrist as the blade drove into wall, her eyes were searching the room... surely someone would help her... someone would...

With a scream of pure rage, her brother charged into the room, a golf club raised above his head. In the darkness of the dining room, the Prince had the advantage before the poor man had even decided to act.

With one swift and fluid motion, the vampire caught the charging man's swing by the wrist and twisted until he dropped his weapon. He motioned for the surrounding vamps to back off, Fetters lifting the pierced woman from where she had slumped the floor.

The Prince twisted the young man's hand until he fell to his knees with an expression of fury and agony. Pierce regarded this expression with a mixture of fascination and delight. Soon all of that passion would turn to terror. What a passionate terror it would be. With a crack, he drove his knee into the kneeling man's face, released his wrist and toed the golf club from the floor where he caught it.

To the wide eyed look of the man with the now broken jaw, the Prince of Pierce drew back and drove the handle of the golf club through the man's stomach, driving all the way. The man screamed in agony for many seconds before Pierce let go of the club and let him fall to his side where he gurgled and died.

The vampire sighed with satisfaction. He had proven his ruthlessness to his subordinates and perhaps improved his reputation. All of that was secondary to the rush of the smell of terror which now completely filled this house, pounding between his temples, coursing through his body like a fever.

With a bold laugh, he raised his fist into the air as if he had just defeated some worthy opponent. The others laughed triumphantly as well. Their Prince was worth it.

--

Pearce watched the night pedestrians go by. They passed his companion and him without much notice. Holiday shopping maybe. Jolly and turkey and all that. It was so depressing.

"Sad, isn't it?" the vampire in black stated beside him. The unnamed vampire had led Pearce to this street because of the people on it. The tragically unconcerned people. "They don't know how close they are to death. How could they know? Why should they know?"

"I can't hurt them," Pearce said after a pause. He had been declawed, as it were, not that he felt any less of a desire to see them suffer. Perhaps he had all the more reason now.

"What if you could?" the vampire asked, turning slightly in the deep shadows of the alleyway. "What if you could bring back the days of the reign of terror? The days of the reign of the Prince of Pierce?" The other vampire said nothing. "What would a fallen prince do?"

"What a prince was born to, I expect," Pearce said thoughtfully.

"But what if a prince had a Slayer to deal with... What would she say about his reign?" The unnamed vampire in black turned back to the passing people. The ignorant people. The blissful people.

Pearce said nothing for a long time. The people passed by and it began to snow. Their breaths fogged in front of their faces. They didn't notice the two figures in the alley way, the two figures whose breath couldn't be seen.

"Can you reverse the wish?" Pearce asked, surprised at how little he sounded like he cared. Since the night he had lost his stomach for terror, it had been the single thing occupying his unconscious mind. For the first few months, he had looked for ways to undo the wish, but no one of any magical inclination seemed to want to go up against a vengeance demon.

"I have some contacts in vengeance circles," the vampire in black said simply.

Pearce drew the cold night air into his lungs and exhaled it, just as cold. "Go on."

Prince of Pierce - Act 3

"I'm here to see Victoria."

The receptionist glanced up to see the blonde in the black leather jacket. Glancing back down at her visitors list, she raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Name?"

"Niki Valtaine," the Slayer said easily. The entire atmosphere of this place could drive a person insane. Pale green walls and low stuffed furniture. Creatively placed fluorescent lights and doctors wandering here and there in white coats. A hush laid heavily over the entire institution and found its way down the Slayer's throat making it difficult to speak. She swallowed hard.

The receptionist nodded at long last. "Ah, yes. She's expecting you." The woman with severely drawn back hair and eyes stood from the desk and led the Slayer down the pale green corridor to the very end. At the door stood a friendly looking security guard who looked like he would offer you a hug while unclipping his baton.

The severe receptionist nodded to the guard who unlocked the door and opened it. There was no window, so Niki was taken by surprise when sunlight flooded her senses. It was an arboretum. Amid the bleak winter scene outside, this glass room contained a summer playground. Warm sunshine somehow radiated from the ceiling, a gentle breeze somehow wafted here and there. Grass covered the ground.

At the center of the playground was a swing set. On the middle of the three swings a young girl swung back and forth, her white school uniform streaked with green grass-stains and her face covered in white gauze bandages.

With a look of warning to the Slayer, the guard and the receptionist left the arboretum and closed the door behind them. Niki frowned and walked carefully toward the girl who was apparently the powerful seer. "Hello," she said hesitantly.

Victoria wore a look of uncertain worry. "Hello," she said. There was a worried pause on her end, then she spoke up again. "Is Tom dead?"

The question caught the Slayer so much by surprise that she didn't answer. She blinked several times. This wasn't adding up. "Aren't you—? Don't you know?"

Victoria looked down sadly. "I don't see things I want to see. I only see bad things." She looked up again. "He's dead, isn't he?"

Niki shook her head adamantly. "No, Tom's fine. My name's Niki, I got your message."

Victoria's face became frozen. If her eyes had been visible, they would have been wide as saucers. "Niki," she said in almost a whisper. "The bad man is meeting with darkness again tonight. Darkness is telling him to kill everyone– and everyone will die... but you first."

The Slayer wasn't sure what this little girl was talking about, but she caught the 'you first' part. "Is it Pearce," she asked, "is he meeting with darkness?"

Victoria scrunched her face and concentrated. "It... says kiss on his shirt. That's the bad man."

Niki was already heading for the door. "Niki," Victoria called, standing from the swing. "He'll kill you in the park: Don't go to the park."

Niki opened the door and dashed down the corridor. It was several hours by taxi back to New York City. It might be dark by then.

--

As the sun dropped below the line of buildings, Pearce and the vampire in black were already waiting in the shadows of Central Park. They had already been to Master Aizawa's martial arts studio and 'borrowed' his kenjitsu sword. The vampire in the black suit was swinging it with ease through the air like a master.

"You will need this," he told Pearce. "She will come for you and she will do everything in her considerable mortal power to kill you."

Pearce took the sword. "I cannot defend myself."

The vampire in the black suit laid his hand on Pearce's shoulder. "You _must_ defend yourself." He lifted his hand from the vampire's shoulder and placed it on his cheek.

In a flash, Pearce was facing a scene from his own nightmares. He was standing beside the unconscious Slayer. She lay on a table, like Pierce had laid out many victims before her, and he looked down at her with an emotion he couldn't recognize himself. She was bleeding from her stomach where it appeared the vampire had impaled her, but with a sudden start, the Slayer grabbed the edge of the wooden table, tore a chunk from it and drove it into the vampire's chest. Pearce watched as his body collapsed into dust on the dark floor.

Pearce shook his head free of the vision and took a step back from the vampire in black. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, raising the sword defensively, though he knew he could not use it.

"The future," the vampire answered easily. "What will happen if you do _not_ kill her tonight." He nodded as Pearce's expression told him all he needed to know. "You are ready then? Ready to do what is necessary for your renewed reign?"

Pearce's eyes narrowed. The cold night air filled his lungs and permeated his body. "Yes. Do it."

The vampire smiled a pleasant and triumphant smile. He turned slightly to face the air. "Halfrek?"

With a thunderous clash of light and smoke, a hideous creature appeared. She looked to be several months dead and rotting, but very much alive and perpetually furious. "Darling," she said pleasantly.

"Sweety," the vampire in black smiled. To Pearce's utter disgust, they embraced and the vampire kissed the demon passionately. "I have a favor to ask."

"Anything for you, sugarplum, you know that," she glanced over to see Pearce standing in the cold in his KISS T-shirt. "Oh, it's _him_."

"Before you start complaining," the vampire held up a hand, "I'll tell you how this works to your advantage." He nuzzled her grotesque face. "You know I'd never ask you to do anything that would get you in trouble."

She smirked. "Well, I guess you're right."

"The Slayer," he said into her ear, "dumped her boyfriend recently... broke his heart. He needs–"

"Vengeance?" Halfrek said eagerly. "I can do that! All he needs to do is say the word–"

The vampire nodded. "That's the problem," he said gently. "The poor man doesn't know it works like that. He needs us to get vengeance for him." He looked over at Pearce who was very confused. "This vampire here is the only one who can exact that vengeance."

Halfrek looked over to Pearce with contempt. "But he hurt that poor little boy. He got what he deserved." She glared at him. "If it were up to me, I'd have you boiling in some hell dimension for several eternities."

"But sweetie," the vampire said gently, "no one can find vengeance but him– and to do it, he needs to be able to fight."

Halfrek thought about this, looking from Pearce to her sweet-cakes. "Oh... what the hell." She grinned, a fearsome sight, "the curse is lifted." Her face took on a completely serious expression. "But _only_," she warned, "until you've gotten vengeance. Then it's back to the little vampire that couldn't."

"Thanks, sweetie," the vampire kissed her hideous lips again and she giggled.

With a shudder, Pearce felt his old power returning to him. His flesh crawled and his senses were magnified. With a gasp, he realized his face was transformed, vampiric and terrifying. His eyes searched the night like those of a wolf, penetrating the shadows and searching for food. His nostrils filled with the scent of food. It wandered about this whole city– unaware of his return. The Prince was back.

"_Pearce,_" Niki called from the darkness of the trees. She was sprinting towards him, a stake in her hand, a cold, unfeeling look in her eyes.

"Oop, got to go," Halfrek raised her hand. "Give her hell, kid," and she vanished. The vampire in black moved around behind Pierce, gripping his shoulders as a coach would his prized fighter.

Niki swallowed as she saw Pierce in his full strength standing with the sword clasped in his hands. There was really nothing she could say. Somehow, they had lost Pearce. The Slayer felt herself desperately alone. She had driven off her Watcher, then her lover, now her last ally. Now the Council was out of contact, her lover was happy to never see her again and her last ally was about to slaughter the city. "Pierce," she said simply. "Put down the sword."

There was a pause as Pierce felt his whole history catching up with him in a tremendous rush of energy. All the pent up sadism from these years without a throne surged through his muscles and seemed to radiate off the blade in his hands. How good it would feel again to drive it through terrified flesh. To smell the fear, drink in the fear. "Put down the sword?" he growled, his teeth feeling more natural now than they ever had. "I think not." He raised the blade above his head and charged.

Prince of Pierce - Act 4

Niki ducked low as the blade split the air above her head. She dashed to one side and took an experimental swipe with her stake. Pierce was out of the way before any of her force was really behind it and she had time to abort the move before it threw her off-balance.

She lifted her leg to allow the blade to sail under her knee, bringing her elbow down into the vampire's shoulder. He snarled and shoved her close body off his own and followed through with a wide swipe with the sword. The slight resistance to its flight told him he had cut her, but her torn shirt was all that was injured.

She feinted left, then right and finally ploughed into him head on, driving her knee into his stomach and seizing his shoulders for a head-butt. He saw it coming and, since his blade was wrong way up, jarred her jaw with the hilt. She staggered back and found herself in the arms of the vampire in black. He was grinning.

"You're all alone now," he said with a kind of glee. "They're all gone... no one to come to your rescue." With a fierce brutality, he shoved her off-balance back towards the sword-wielding vampire.

She swung high, making Pierce duck, and scissor kicked him in the face. He staggered back and nearly dropped the sword. In less than a second, however, he had regained his balance and came at her full force. She caught his arm and was about to transfer his momentum into a face-first collision with a tree, when he grabbed the collar of her leather jacket and brought them both tumbling to the ground.

With a snarl, Pierce tried to shove her off of him, but she pinned his one arm above his head and the other was pinned behind his back, with the blade clutched in it. This wasn't going as he had planned. He smelled anger on her. Frustration with the hint of hopelessness, but not terror. Not a trace.

"_Kill her_," he hissed to the vampire who stood in the shadows. Pierce struggled admirably, smashing his forehead into the Slayer's face, making her bleed, but she would not be moved.

The vampire in black walked casually from the shadows and bent to speak into the Slayer's ear. "They're all happier, you know: without you." He drew his lips back over his perfect white teeth. "They all have the lives they wanted before they met you: before you fucked them up."

Niki grated her teeth. Holding down Pierce left her no free hand to punch this creep in the face. Punching him now, perhaps playing her favorite game with him was something she looked forward to. Letting go of Pierce, however, was not.

"_Just kill her_," Pierce hissed, his struggles lessening as he found himself unable to move. This was terribly embarrassing. He felt his face returning to normal and Niki found herself looking down at the face of Pearce. The Pearce she had shared drinks with, shared a career with and shared her considerable drink-induced troubles with. For the barest moment she flinched.

That was all the Prince of Pierce needed. With a titanic shove, he threw her onto her back and leapt upon her, sword-tip first. She rolled and the sword pierced only the ground, but both were soon on their feet.

"Are you here to help me or not?" Pierce demanded, glancing occasionally to his supposed ally in the shadows. The vampire said nothing.

A smile flashed onto Niki's lips. "He can't help you," she grinned. "He's all talk: just like you. You're nothing."

Pierce's face morphed and with a sneer he brought his sword in a series of descending arcs, catching the leather of her jacket and flinging sparks into the night as he struck a metal zipper. Her grunt and sudden lack of agility signaled he had cut flesh.

"All talk?" he laughed. "You'd be nothing without me." He raised the sword and she just barely jumped out of its way as it carved a wedge from a large maple. "All you have you owe to me. All your victories you owe to me! What do I get for it?" He swung the blade so fast it was invisible in the darkness. She was backing up now, further and further, her hand clutching her bloodied shoulder. "Jokes! Pity! Betrayal!" He snarled and advanced on her, determined and unstoppable. Pitiless. "For _this!?_" he shook the silver bracelet with contempt.

"They're all gone," the vampire in black said from behind the Prince. The two of them advanced on her together. The puppet and the puppeteer. "To help you, they'd be abandoning their happiness for someone unworthy of the title Slayer." He chuckled. "You're a disappointment."

Niki's jaw tensed. She'd heard this speech before. She didn't need to hear it again. "No I'm not," she said no louder than a whisper. With a fiery gleam in her eyes she twirled the stake in her hand and brought her arm back for a pitch. She'd taken on hundreds of vamps before. Two was a walk in the park. "I get the job done," she said, baring her teeth. The stake flew from her arm so fast she had trouble imagining how far it had actually gone.

Pierce howled and looked down to the ground where he had dropped his sword. His hand was anchored securely to his left thigh where the stake had pierced him. He stumbled back with considerable pain and the Slayer took his moment of weakness to act.

Moving as quietly as the wind, she rushed him and took his throat and threw him like a doll onto the ground. With a growl of pain, he tore his hand from the stake in his thigh and then tore the stake from his flesh. He leapt to his feet but as soon as he put weight on his leg he staggered sideways in pain. His face melted back to its human features and he groaned in pain. He looked over to the vampire behind the Slayer with a look border on betrayal. "_Kill her!_" he hollered.

The vampire smiled. "Don't worry," he said calmly. "Unlike her— you're not alone." He stepped back into the shadows and disappeared from sight. But he was quite correct. Pierce was not alone.

From the shadows of the trees forms emerged. Vampire forms. They formed a large circle around the Slayer and the Prince, shoulder to shoulder they were impenetrable and daunting. One of them stepped forward and grinned. "Hello, boss," he said with a grin.

Pierce's eyes widened. Those eyes then settled on Niki with a practiced look of greedy hunger. The look was easy to wear and felt comfortable like a glove. There would be terror aplenty tonight. "Fetters," the Prince licked his lips. "Good to see you again..."

The vampire known as Fetters laughed and found the kenjitsu sword in the grass. He brought it over to the Prince with a kind of reverence. A kind of respect. Pierce kept the smile tight on his lips. They were all here: Fetters... Mault... Smitty. All of his old gang.

"We've got ourselves a god damned family reunion here," he laughed through forced good humor. All of them were here. The rage boiled up in his throat. His entire life as a prince could be summed up with the people who now stood in the circle around the Slayer and him.

Fetters knelt and presented the sword as Pierce kept all his weight on his right leg. His smile hid his furiously working jaw. His hand gripped the sword from the vampire's outstretched hands, his knuckles white: The only thing he truly hated more than the wish which had made him impotent was the gang which had betrayed him because of it.

With his eyes glinting off the reflected light of the bloodied blade, Pierce clenched the blade in a fist so tight he could barely feel it. Time slowed as it always did in moments of perfect vengeance. The cold air filled his lungs and he let out a savage cry of fury, swinging the blade through the cold winter air, taking his kneeling subject's mocking head from his body. Never again would he laugh at a Prince. With a turn faster than thought itself, he took off the head of the startled Mault behind him. Before the two piles of dust had registered with the others, Pierce had vaulted painfully into the center of the circle of traitors next to the astounded and confused Slayer. With little more than a glance to her, he handed her the stake covered with his blood and turned his back to her, reading his blade for more beheadings.

"Okay," he said just loud enough for her to hear. "We've had our fun: worked off a little aggression, but these fuckers mean business." With a snarl he spat at the nearest vampire. Slowly, the circle of the most deadly vampire gang in the city was closing around the bleeding Slayer and the injured vampire.

Niki took the chance that Pearce had just irreparably alienated himself from his former gang and decided to save his dusting for later. She gripped the stake and widened her stance, glancing uncertainly between the vivid looks of death which closed in around them. Time to play...

"We've taken worse," Pierce said encouragingly. "There's only... two or three dozen of them..." The Slayer and the Prince circled back to back inside the noose of vampires. If there was terror here, it was not in his enemies' eyes.

Niki looked around, searching for something... anything. "This would be a good time for the cavalry..." she hissed, putting on the fiercest face she could. These creatures were in no hurry as they closed the distance between predators and prey.

"Assuming they're not coming," Pierce said with a gallows humor smile, "that is to say; assuming you've done a better job in alienating your gang than I just did mine, shall we get a few things settled?"

"How many things do you think we have time for?" she answered, feeling the very breath of the gang now mere meters away.

"Well, first of all, I really respect you as a person–" Pierce said with a wry smile.

Niki shuddered to think where this was going. "Fuck it," and she jumped into battle.

Pierce laughed triumphantly and launched himself at his traitorous gang. Tonight was as good a night as any to start building a new set of 'good old days'. Tonight was an excellent night for revenge. The Prince's blade lived up to its owner's reputation, impaling many of his former allies before dusting them with a hack to the neck.

Niki killed her share of the fiercest gang in the city before a fist caught her injured shoulder and she was dragged to the frosty ground. Boots slammed into her stomach and face and the stake was pulled from her hand. So sure was she that this was the cold and bitter end that she could have sworn a light was ready to take her away. But the pain of the beating didn't fade, as she expected it should in death.

Pierce howled in fury as he was overwhelmed and pulled to the bottom of a knot of vicious cheap shots. He felt a great deal of attention being paid to his injured leg, as his old gang took particular pleasure in exploiting his already immense pain. Then he felt the white hot flash he expected accompanied decapitation. But the pain in his leg didn't end suddenly and he still felt remarkably undusted. With a frown, he didn't notice at first as his assailants abandoned him.

The bright light moved into the midst of the two clusters of attackers, striking out with bolts of unleashed energy as only a small claims lawyer could unleash it. As the vampires fell here and there, smoking and then bursting into flames, Logan's power quickly waned and he shouted something that no one but the necessary deities could hear.

With an ear-tearing explosion, everyone still standing was flung far from the center of the fray, the light of the energy driving them into fiery oblivion. Some were able to get back to their feet and took off into the concealing darkness of the deeper shadows, but within seconds, those who had not were dust on the frost.

Logan collapsed onto the suddenly dark ground and fell face first into the grass. Niki was on her feet and at his side as soon as she realized what had happened. Pierce took slightly longer to recognize his continued state of undeath.

Looking about himself with a nod, he clapped his hands together with satisfaction. "Well, that takes care of _them_." He walked nonchalantly to Niki and the prostrate man in the black turtleneck. "I was wrong about you," he said with a nod. "You're not alone." He nudged Logan's arm with his toe. "You must be _really_ good in bed—"

In a flash, Niki had seized her stake and drove Pierce up against a tree, her arm across his throat, her stake pressing painfully into his ribs. "Give me one reason not to kill you," she said venomously, her eyes thin slits, her breath hissing between her teeth.

"Ugh," Logan groaned and raised himself to his forearms.

Niki glanced back at him and pressed all that much harder on Pierce so as not to lose the advantage. "_One_ reason," she hissed.

The vampire felt her anger. Felt her righteous hate. Unlike terror, which was like a good strong whiskey, one which he could drink all night long, her anger was like a warm blanket and without meaning to, she had wrapped him in it and he had never felt more secure. "One reason?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Just because he felt safe, didn't mean he wasn't moments away from death.

"What's going on?" Logan croaked from behind them.

Then Pierce caught something in her scent that sent a spike of fear up his own spine. The smile dropped off his face. All thoughts of joviality dissolved like his former gang. "You will not kill me," he said with complete seriousness, "because I forbid it."

Niki squinted. "_What?_"

"You will not kill me," he commanded. "This fight is over. Take Logan and go home."

Niki Valtaine stepped back with a look of complete confusion. What was he talking about? Despite her all encompassing desire to drive the stake through the non-existent heart of his, she found herself picking Logan from the frost covered ground and helping him back toward the cold streets of the city. _What the hell was he talking about_?

Pierce watched them go with a creeping sense of dread. No matter how she felt about him... She was bound to obey him. All this time, since Addison had left... She had obeyed him. Not because he was her Watcher...

Pearce held the cold air in his lungs for agonizing minutes as the two disappeared into the darkness of the night. "Because I infected her."


	9. Stuff

Stuff - Act 1

_September 3__rd__, 1981_

Nineteen year old Niki Valtaine sulked very noticeably. She muttered something under her breath which her Watcher ignored.

"I think we need to have a talk." He had always tried to be fair and respectful of her life goals, provided they didn't interfere with her duties as a Slayer. Ms. Valtaine was still quite young and new to this way of life so Addison did all he could to bend the rules for her. "When you said you had an interest in music..." his brow furrowed, "I was thinking philharmonic orchestra." The British man lifted the hand-sharpened drumsticks from the kitchen table of their small apartment. "But these..."

"They work on so many levels," Niki said hopefully with an innocent shrug.

"I'm not so sure." He stood and began to pace. "Ever since your parents were killed, I've tried to raise you the best way that I know how—"

"I'm not a potted plant," Niki frowned, standing, "and I'm not English either. But this is the way I see it: You came to _me_. You told _me_ that all of a sudden I'm some kind of Wonder-Woman and that the world needs me to give up my future to go save it. But from what I can see, beyond having told me that, you and the Council don't serve any real purpose. _I'm_ running the show because I _am_ the show. I don't do any of these little tests the council sets up because I don't give a crap about what they think." She lowered her tone and took on an almost apologetic look. "I'm sorry if that gets you in trouble— I appreciate all you've done— I do, but I need to live my life to know that the world is worth saving." She frowned. "Can you understand that?" She began to pull on her faded denim jacket, shaking her dirty blonde hair into even more of a mess.

The old Watcher let his eyes crinkle. "Yes, I think I can— provided," he held up a cautionary finger, "this _Toe Tag City_ doesn't get you into any more trouble than you seem to get into by yourself."

Niki smiled flirtatiously. "Who, me?" She took his arm and kissed his cheek affectionately. "Thanks pops, I knew you'd understand." Sprinting to the door she turned with a smile. "I'll be back late, don't wait up!"

"Hmm," Addison grumbled. She was young and had lived a tragedy. She deserved a little fun.

Niki slid into the back seat of the Toyota, clenching her jaw to protect her eardrums from the pounding bass. Jimmy slid his hand around her waist he drew her in for a quick kiss.

"Hey baby," he said gently, diving back for another, deeper kiss.

"Mmm, Jimmy, close the damn door," she smiled. "If the Colonel sees me, I'm toast."

Jesse smirked. "Why do you live with that old fossil?" the vocalist laughed. "Is he, like, your uncle or something?" The car pulled away from the curb and tore down the dark street.

"Nah, he's not related." She checked her pockets and realized she hadn't picked up her drum sticks. "Shit, oh well." She leaned in for another kiss from the lead guitarist.

"Hey, baby," he said, pulling away and reaching into the backpack on the floor, "I want you to try something."

Niki raised an eyebrow in amusement. "What the hell is that? Shit?" she laughed.

Jimmy shook his head. "No way. Street shit is like a death sentence. This is all natural performance enhancer."

Jesse in the front seat laughed at this. "Yeah, and tell her where you got it, _James_."

Jimmy frowned at his given name. "Shut up, fuck face."

"His daddy works for some law firm," Jesse explained, "and one of his freak-weirdo clients gave it to him for safe keeping. Little James stole it!"

"Try it," Jimmy said with a gentle smile, offering the vial to Niki.

"How do I take it?" she asked with a frown. "Under the tongue, under a full moon, what?"

Becky reached over from the window seat and took a crystal bottle of scotch from Jimmy's bag. "Here, mix it in. Fuckin' A, it's good."

--

_January 3__rd__, 1986_

Niki awoke with a start. _What time was it?_ 1:20 pm. The Slayer shuddered. Late, _late_ night. Those Ajor'a demons were certainly _feisty_. She groaned as she sat up from the mess of covers that was her bed. She frowned. Had she been dreaming? She shook her head. She couldn't remember. With a smile she remembered Addison's annoyance when he realized she had been dismissing her Slayer-given visions as dreams for years before she knew what they were. That man got angry at absolutely everything.

Logan would be at the park soon. They had a great deal to talk about. Niki stripped off her night shirt and picked a random pair of pants and one of her many white shirts. She wasn't interested in looking good for Logan Kilpatrick any more. She winced as she pulled the shirt on and touched the scar on her shoulder. It had been almost a month since Pearce had played the berserk samurai and sliced her open. He had been avoiding Logan and her since that night and they had checked and found he had abandoned his condo. Likely not able to pay for his lavish lifestyle now that the Council was incommunicado. Both of these circumstances suited Niki just fine.

Otherwise, things were back to normal. Not normal in the sense that they had returned to the way they had always been: they had always been crappy. They had become normal in the sense that this was the way normal people acted. Normal people lived.

Logan was driving his daughter to school most days, meaning he was up early and home even earlier. In fact the Slayer hadn't even seen him in two weeks. She allowed herself a small laugh. Those brief and chaotic months that had been Valtaine and Associates had drawn to a close, she mused. Everyone was going their separate ways, it seemed. And all the happier for it.

Niki nodded. The creepy vampire in black had been right about that. Everyone was happier without her. And she wasn't bitter. Not even at Logan any more. The vampires had settled down in the city somewhat, though the demons had taken that as an invitation – but those demons had generic weaknesses that didn't require more than the most preliminary research.

Even the Council was silent. No replacement sent for the second Watcher who had abandoned her– she grinned. Vampire as a Watcher: what a project to cover up! Especially since it failed. The Slayer massaged her shoulder ache away and slipped on her boots, her digital watch and her earrings. After a brief discussion with herself, she also clipped the thin silver around her neck. Just because she wasn't trying to impress Logan, didn't mean she had to look like shit.

Minutes later she was sipping on black coffee and slipping on her black leather jacket. With a frown she realized she had neglected to get it repaired since its encounter with the wrong end of a katana. With a shrug she locked the apartment door behind her and started for the park.

--

Logan sat on the bench in his warm winter coat. His breath made a white cloud before his face, his hands rubbed each other, trying to keep warm. If the Jacobson affair worked out like it was supposed to, Kilpatrick thought with considerable anticipation, then he might be in line for a promotion at the firm. That would mean a pay raise and then he and Rachel could splurge on a new car. If this whole year worked out the way he hoped, they would have enough for Hana to go to the school of her choice after she got out of highschool. Thank God she didn't have any intention of going to law school.

"Hello, Logan," Niki said quietly, sitting down beside him. He had been so distracted he hadn't heard her approach.

"Hi," he said just as quietly. They said nothing for a long time. A couple of joggers plodded by in pink track suits. Niki licked her lips.

"Thanks for seeing me," she said at last, her heart sinking.

He nodded without looking at her. They both continued to stare ahead at the snow covered trees and the white ground. The pink joggers plodded back in the other direction.

"Logan—" Niki shifted on the cold bench, her breath dissipating before it reached him. He kept looking forward. He looked so much older than he had when she had met him. So much more mature. She exhaled. "I'm... infected with the plague." Logan looked at her with a frown and his breath quickened. "It's the only thing that explains it all."

Logan slowly turned back to the winter beauty. He sighed heavily. "What are you going to do?"

The Slayer was silent. "I'm going to go home. I'm going to sleep. Then I'm going to get up and kill some vampires."

"Niki–"

"The Nosphorus is dead, Logan. The only people this affects are Pearce and me. He's been scarce, so there's no problem that I can see."

Logan sighed. Finally he stood. "I'm glad you told me." Once she stood, he awkwardly pulled her into a hug. "It was good to see you." And he turned and left, leaving her alone in the cold but beautiful afternoon.

Niki slowly sat back down on the cold bench and cried.

Stuff - Act 2

_September 4__th__, 1981_

With the scotch and stuff still throbbing through her body, Niki's hands folded and fidgeted continually in her lap. Her eyes shifted ceaselessly and her lips trembled. The club was dark and hot and the stench of vampires set her on edge. She blinked continually, looking over her shoulder every few seconds as Toe Tag City waited for their turn to play.

Jimmy took her hand from behind and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Hey, baby, you okay?" He frowned, then leaned in and kissed her neck. She clenched her jaw and resisted the sudden and unexplained instinct to break his nose. With her stomach doing somersaults, the girl pulled away from him and disappeared out the back exit into the alley.

Gasping for breath, she held her arms close around her body, trembling. She tried not to breathe, since every breath brought fresh writhing worms into her lungs. She doubled over and tried to make herself invisible. But someone was watching.

"Hello, precious," the rasping voice said as its owner stepped from behind a dumpster. "You look cold. Let a fellow warm you up—"

Niki stood, her jaw tight and her eyes slits. The quivering throughout her muscles seemed to align itself along her arms and her fists balled. "Fuck off, asshole," she growled.

"Precious, _precious_," the figure scolded. "That's not very polite." As he stepped into the light cast by the lamp above the 'exit only' door to the club, Niki's other senses were confirmed by his vampiric face and eyes.

With a deep breath, the writhing in her lungs seemed to calm, the chattering of her teeth quiet and her senses focus with no effort at all. Before she knew what was happening, she had charged towards him, smashed his face with her forehead and thrown him upside down into the opposite wall.

Electricity danced through her, surging with almost orgasmic intensity, pummeling her senses as she released the violence at the creature. Before he had a chance to get up, her young lithe body carried her to him and she threw him head-first into the dumpster, eliciting a scream from the surprised vampire.

With a fire burning through her muscles and steel suddenly taking over her bones, she took the creature by the jacket and launched him completely out of the alley and into the traffic in front of the club where a car swerved, but struck him anyway. As soon as he was up, the vampire took off running amid screeching traffic.

The nineteen year old stood panting for breath, her eyes wide, her muscles again trembling. The lust in her blood was not yet satisfied and the writhing and chattering started up again. Jimmy stepped out of the door, with a frown on his face. "Babe? You out here?"

With lightning reflexes, she grabbed the guitarist by the jacket collar and pulled him out of the doorway, slamming him against the brick wall, the door clicking closed seconds later. With a spark in her eyes that he had only an instant to register, Niki's fingers tore off his jacket and ripped his shirt open. Her lips were soon on his and she melted into him against the wall of the alley, taking his hands and moving them over her breasts with a groan.

It took him a shocked moment to react, but soon he was responding to her every desire— right up until the sirens and glaring lights filled the alleyway, blinding their senses.

Sweaty and only partially clothed, Niki found herself in the back of a squad car, her hands cuffed behind her back. As the car pulled out of the alley, she could see the car that had swerved to miss the vampire was nuzzled up to the car it didn't miss and broken glass was being swept off the street. As the high slowly melted from her brain and body, Niki considered the blood that must be covering her hands and was now doubtlessly all over poor Jimmy.

The Slayer groaned. Addison would not be pleased.

--

_September 5__th__, 1981_

Niki kept her eyes downcast. Her Watcher was more vocal than she had ever seen him. He was actually expanding her vocabulary. She had never heard a more effective use of the word 'promiscuous'. Unfortunately, since he had claimed her as his own, he had had the authority to allow the tox screen. Stuff —wherever it came from— was not identified as a narcotic, but as some kind of industrial chemical mixed with organic solvents. She was warned to stay away from asbestiforms and exotic animals and slapped with a 450 fine for indecent exposure and a warning for mischief.

Addison raised his hands expressively as he continued about the responsibility of the Chosen One which included at the very least not being arrested. It didn't matter, he emphasized, that she had been battling a vampire: discretion was key. The government, he warned, would love a chance to dissect a girl with superpowers. And the _public!_ They would have her locked in a cage for the rest of her unnatural life.

Niki tried not to think about how much she wanted another drink. Specifically, how much she wanted that drink to have about five grams of industrial chemical and organic solvents mixed in with it. So she thought about what she had done. A flush filled her cheeks. Fortunately since she and Jimmy had actually been in the process of putting their clothes back _on_ when they were picked up, Addison would never know how far she had gone. She bit her lower lip and decided to concentrate on that.

"Our agreement was that you could pursue this musical career of yours assuming you stayed out of trouble—" Addison glanced at the girl and saw the dreamy expression on her face. "Are you even _listening_ to me?"

Niki blinked and snapped out of her reverie. "Uh... what? Sorry?"

Addison sighed. "I want you to tell me something," he said with deadly seriousness.

Niki's eyes searched the room for the correct answer. "I... will never touch that stuff again," she prayed that was what he was waiting impatiently to hear.

"And that boy?" her Watcher's eyes were hard and cold. Tragedy or no tragedy: some fun was not to be had by girls her age.

Niki blinked. _Jimmy?_ "Never touch him again either," she lied.

Addison nodded curtly. "Good. Now go to bed." And he turned and retired to his own room, closing the door with the exhaustion of someone encountering the full effect of a teenager for the first time.

Niki sighed. _Glad that's over_, she stood from the kitchen table and made her way to the door. "I need a drink," she muttered under her breath.

--

_September 6__th__, 1981_

Becky frowned. "Damn, Niki, I don't know."

"Come _on_," the Slayer scowled impatiently. "You fucking pushed it on me. You're not cutting me off now."

Jesse looked to the floor, his expression hidden in the shadows of this place. They were just packing up their gear. This bar was a rat hole, not a single person of taste in the whole place. And some real freaks besides. "Sorry," he said. "It wasn't supposed to get you hooked."

Niki scoffed, irritated and slightly desperate. "Oh– come _on_... I'm not _hooked_... I just... I just _want_ some, okay? It makes me play better, right?"

Becky's eyes shifted nervously. "Actually, Niki since you've been drinking and stuff... you're rhythm's kinda been slipping. Maybe you should kick it... just for a while."

Valtaine bared her teeth. She opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn't think of anything music related to say. She couldn't tell them the real reason she wanted it. Couldn't tell them that she hadn't felt like a real Slayer since the night she had taken it for the first time: hadn't felt like a real Slayer in her whole life _before_ that night. "So that's it? You're cutting me off?"

Jesse put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Sorry, Niki."

She shrugged off his touch and let her drumsticks clatter to the floor of the grotty joint. "Yeah, _right_," and without another word she found a stool at the bar and ignored them as they finished packing their instruments into the van. _Fuck them_.

The barkeep sauntered over to take her order. He had a long nose, almost beak-like, and upswept eyebrows. "What're you having, little lady?"

Niki sighed. "Scotch..." She glanced over her shoulder as he reached for a glass to make sure the band was out of earshot. "And have you got any of that... stuff?" Before she had even finished the sentence, the barkeep set a small vial of white powder beside her glass. As she began to mix it in, a smile spread across the barkeep's face. At a hundred bucks a pop, Felix didn't stop smiling till the day he died.

Stuff - Act 3

_January 5__th__, 1986_

Tom lifted the bottle of rum and examined it critically. "Huh," he said with suspicion. "Doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it," he set a small glass down on the bar and filled it, first smelling, then tasting the brown liquor. "Seems fine to me."

Auk scoffed. "I'm the customer," he said with saliva dribbling from his lipless mouth, "and I say it tastes like piss." The bird-like demon knocked his drinking-bowl over with annoyance, spilling the rum down the otherwise spotless bar. "I'm not paying for it," Auk challenged.

Tom considered this. With clear and decided motions, he found his Magnum Wiley and brought it scant inches from the bird's face. "Well, I'm the one of us with a firearm and I say you are paying for it." With his other massive hand, Tom lifted the bird by the scruff of the neck to eye level. "Now the two of us seem to be in disagreement." He pressed the barrel of the massive handgun under the bird's chin and glared viciously into his face with hard red eyes. "Which one of us do you think is mistaken?"

"Tom," Niki greeted from the door of the bar.

"Wrong," the barkeep growled to the bird who didn't have time to protest before the bullet tore through its head. Tom let it fall to the floor in a mess of blood and feathers.

"Tom?" Niki looked at the scene with uncertainty.

Tom looked around, finding the source of the voice. "What? Oh. It's you." He ducked under the hanging light and found a cloth to clean up the rum. "What can I get you?"

"The usual," she grinned. "It's a Slaying night." At her words, several customers hurriedly grabbed their coats and shuffled out.

The Slayer nodded in thanks as the titan of a barkeep began to pour her the gold liquid and set the vial down beside the drink. "You know," she said with a smile as she sipped it, "you're probably the only person I've ever met that hasn't judged me for taking this stuff."

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise, then snatched the half empty vial off the bar. He squinted at the tiny print on its side, then blinked several times. "Hmm. So _that's_ what this stuff is." He shrugged. "It's your body."

Niki laughed. "It most certainly is." She sipped again. "And nobody else seems to want it."

"I'll take a piece of it," a woman hissed from behind her, her face shifting to the familiar inhuman features.

Niki interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms out, cracking her knuckles. "It begins."

--

Pierce sat very still. His hands were tied behind his back around the back of the chair and his ankles were similarly bound. Not too tight – not at all uncomfortable. After all, this was his idea.

"Are you sure about this?" Logan asked, his voice remote and uncertain. When Pierce had contacted him, he hadn't been sure what he felt for the vampire. The camaraderie was gone... if it had ever really existed at all. He felt none of the pity he had when the vampire had been under the curse. Now the curse was lifted and Pierce was just another street vampire. If Logan had met him on the street any other day, he might have staked him without hesitation, but the fact that the vampire had called him... obviously the Prince still assumed some friendship between them. It was nothing Logan had the energy to investigate or destroy right now. This was all he could do to close out the part of his life he was sure he was ashamed of. He was sure of it.

"I'm sure," Pierce nodded. He was infected. He knew it. One of the symptoms of course was blackouts – particularly when feeding. The Nosphorus in him would reveal itself when he fed... when he spread the virus– and then they would be absolutely sure.

"_Well I'm not fucking sure!_" the pimp screamed, his hands also bound. He struggled in vain as Logan listlessly pushed him towards the tied vampire. The man they had found in the alley wailed as Pierce's face transformed and his hunger took over. He had been starving himself for days to make sure it would be an accurate test.

Pierce felt the world close off to all but his hunger and his victim's throat which, despite his own inability to move, was drawing closer to his fangs.

The pimp screamed as the Prince's teeth sank into his flesh, drawing blood. Logan held him mercilessly until Pierce pulled away, the vampire's face covered in blood. "Release me," the Prince ordered, his eyes yellow and unwavering. "Untie me, Logan, and you may go. Our test is complete."

Logan stood motionless, holding the whimpering pimp by his bound hands. The man in the black turtleneck observed the tied Nosphorus with detached interest. Pierce was right. He was infected. His features weren't rat-like as they had been told to expect, but that was because Pierce's face had been kept human by the curse when he had fed on his first dozen after the initial infection. Pierce would now have no memory of this conversation.

"Release me, friend," the Nosphorus said gently, twisting his wrists back and forth behind his chair.

"We're not friends," Logan said stoically, shoving the bleeding pimp into a corner. The man clasped his hands behind his back and began to circle the Nosphorus' chair. "In fact I've never really felt anything for you but complete hatred."

The Nosphorus swallowed. "Then release me and we shall fight. Release me, now." His tone was reasonable and calculated.

"I rather think I'd like to keep you tied," Logan argued, his voice just as calculated. "You see, a while ago, you and the Slayer had similar suspicions about me," he continued to pace around the chair, his voice carrying him wherever his mind pleased. Freud would have been proud.

"Release me and we shall discuss it," the creature in the chair suggested.

"That was what I recommended when you two presented me with the prospect of three days and three nights of unspeakable agony on the table." Logan paused and remembered his time in the darkness, considering and reconsidering the betrayal. "I made a promise then," the man recalled. "I promised that I would kill you... then I pursued the power and ability to do just that."

The Nosphorus was silent. He couldn't find a way of working in 'Release me' without it sounding like he was begging. He twisted his bonds furiously.

"As I think about it," Logan went on, "I really don't see any reason not to kill you right now." He opened his hand and a bright spark of light ignited between his fingers. When the Nosphorus froze, Logan cocked his head, then snapped his hand closed again and the spark died. "On the other hand, I think what's coming to you might be more fitting justice than anything I could conjure." And so he waited.

In the end, with a snarl, the Nosphorus' face melted back to the not particularly handsome face of the Prince of Pierce. The vampire glanced around himself as if to convince himself that he was still in the same room, tied to the same chair.

"It worked then?" the vampire asked.

Logan, standing with his arms crossed against the back wall of the warehouse took a moment to respond. "You don't remember telling me embarrassing details about your childhood?" he asked remotely.

Pierce frowned. "No."

Logan shrugged. "Then it worked."

--

The sun was just coming up when Niki staggered back into the Nail Biter, a small cut on her forehead and dust all over her leather jacket. She plunked herself down on her usual stool and brushed off the remains of her encounters with the vampires of New York. There was something so pure about vampire slaying. Something, ironically enough, so much cleaner than killing demons or vanquishing incarnations of evil. Vampires were just so simple and innocent that killing them was extremely fulfilling.

Tom wandered over, ducking just in time as the light passed over his head. "Morning," he said wearily.

Niki grinned. "Don't you ever sleep?"

Tom shrugged. "Don't you?"

The Slayer took a deep breath. "The usual," she said with gusto, but Tom was shaking his head.

"We don't serve stuff after five o'clock: not good for anyone involved." He set a mug out on the bar. "How 'bout some coffee? Get you ready for your day."

Niki blinked. She tilted her head uncertainly for a moment. "Uh, no thanks. Just scotch and stuff."

Tom swallowed. "Sorry, no can do. Coffee, tea or orange juice: new policy. Makes for less trouble."

"_Listen,_" Niki hissed, standing from her stool and placing her hands on the bar to lean in towards the towering barkeep, "I've just come back from killing dozens of bloodsucking fiends. I don't _have_ to do it every night... in fact I take a break on Tuesdays, but I do it six days a week because I _can_." She slowly pushed the empty mug back towards the brave barkeep. "And what _says_ I can is the same thing that wants some scotch and stuff... and it's _going to get it_, got it?" She plunked herself back on the stool, satisfied that her point was made.

Tom slowly walked a few paces down the bar and reached under it for the familiar friend that lived there. He turned, his Magnum Wiley outstretched in a now very confident hand. "I'm afraid," he said slowly, "that I'm bound to uphold this establishment's policies." He cocked his head, daring her to argue.

Niki ground her teeth together. Looking down the sinister barrel of the deadly and accurate weapon wielded by a deadly and accurate demon, the Slayer felt her muscles begin to tremble.

Stuff - Act 4

Logan left the warehouse with pieces coming together in his mind. Niki was infected. Pierce was infected. Logan himself wasn't infected. He shuddered. They had concluded that with certainty. If Niki hadn't been infected by the original Nosphorus, then Pierce must have infected her, otherwise the paranoid street talk would have reported anything else rat-like and trying to destroy the world. The reason Niki didn't suspect Pierce was that he didn't appear as a Nosphorus... Logan shook his head.

No, the reason was because she was his slave. Ever since he had bitten her —the thought made his fists ball— she had been forced unconsciously to do everything her sire said. That made perfect sense, as the human thought about it. When creating an army, the one who cast the spell and created the virus was the General; his Nosphorus were his captains and each they infected– each loyal to any captain, were the cannon fodder. And quite the effective army: A single division under one Nosphorus had nearly taken over the entire city a few months ago.

With Pierce still a Nosphorus, the plan was still alive. Without a general, though, the army had no plan of attack. It was sleeping. Growing.

Fortunately, they had a cure. A cure that the Pierce-Nosphorus didn't know about. And once Niki was cured, she could finish what she started in the park and end all their problems. Logan paused on his way to the Biter. There was, as far as he knew, no cure for the vampires infected with the plague: the hideous torture table only worked for the human sufferers.

Logan trotted down the steps to the door of the Nail Biter and as soon as he opened the door, knew something was terribly wrong.

There were tables lying upside down and some shattered on the floor. Moaning and writhing bodies lay piled over them or cowering in corners. The walls and ceiling were decorated with potholes from a spray of bullets which had emptied out of a Magnum Wiley some minutes ago.

Logan took a deep and disappointed breath. The bar tenders of this place seemed to end up at the wrong end of someone's wrath, but none had ended up quite so dead as Tom now appeared. Logan swallowed as the smell washed over him. Not really the stench of death: that would take perhaps an hour to come into its own. This was the rarely smelled stench of demon insides.

From the ceiling down, the Nail Biter was decorated with Tom. Logan finally realized what he was looking at and had to look away, lest he vomit.

Between the three hanging lamps were strung Tom's black dripping intestines, almost in a festive arrangement. Among the bottles lined up against the mirror behind the bar was the unfortunate barkeep's head, its eyes torn out and floating in the bottles of liquor on either side of the grotesque sight. Tom's torso, riddled with bullets from his own gun, was sitting on the stool at the end of the bar; a massive chest and stomach lacking arms, legs, a head and entrails and being the obvious source for the puddle of black liquid beneath it. The slow grinding sound Logan heard was the laboring ceiling fan which spun under a great deal more weight than for which it had been designed. On each of its four blades was stuck one of Tom's arms or legs, spinning slowly, spattering the customers below with tiny black droplets.

Beneath the carnage spread out across the room, standing panting for breath under the spinning fan, was the Slayer, her black, blood-covered jacket tied around her waist, her white shirt torn nearly off, stained with black and red blood. Her blond hair was matted with black and dark red, her bare arms were glistening with sweat and her hands were completely black. In her right hand she held some unidentified internal organ of the late barkeep and in her left she waved the Magnum Wiley, its muzzle smoking.

Niki slowly turned to the sound of the opened door and the gasping human at the threshold. Her eyes were red and black blood was smeared across her face. Her lips were dripping with the black blood and Logan was sure the thing she was holding in her right hand had been between her teeth a few moments ago.

There was a wavering moan from somewhere in one of the darker corners and Niki spun around and fired several shots into it, eliciting a scream and then silence. She slowly turned back around and dropped the smoking gun, reaching into the cleft between her mostly exposed breasts and retrieving the small white vial. She emptied its contents straight into her mouth and then took a bite of whatever it was that was still bleeding from her right hand.

With a seductive walk that nearly made the trembling Logan vomit again, Niki made her way over to him, dropping the organ with a splat and discarding the latest of the empty vials.

"Holy _fuck!_" Logan shouted, taking a step back. "What— what the–"

"Shhh," Niki held a blackened finger to his lips, smearing the blood across his flesh. "Just hold me," she crooned, maneuvering him against the closed door and rotating her hips against his. She whispered and moaned nothings to him as her bloodied fingers began to undress him.

Logan shook his head to clear the shock of the entire situation. "Niki! What the _fuck_ is this!? What did you do!?"

Niki giggled and turned around to show him the room. "Isn't it pretty?" She took his shoulder and tried to kiss him with foul lips, but he pulled away. "Now do what you know you want to," she groaned, her hand sliding inside his jeans. "I'm a broken little girl, Logan, don't'cha wanna fuck me?"

Logan recoiled, pulling her slimy hand from his wait, holding her shoulder to keep her face from his own. "Niki," he said with a trembling voice. "I'm going to get you help."

With Slayer strength, she pulled her hand free from his own grip and shoved him hard against the wall, pressing her hot body against his. "You can help me," she purred, fire racing through her veins. "Do what you wanted to do the first time you saw me," she slid her hand down to his jeans and unbuttoned his fly, trailing black slime across the denim.

Logan's breath was fast and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. She certainly did have the strength to make him do whatever she wanted. He fought against her advances, trying to wriggle away from her touch. She planted a black kiss at the corner of his lips, trailing her tongue over the black mark it made.

His eyes snapped open again. Hold on, he didn't have to take this. With his jaw clenched and her hand sliding all over him, he concentrated. The dark arts he had studied were almost always lethal or at least very imprecise. Little parlor tricks like the electricity in his hand were interesting but harmless so Logan was forced to improvise.

As the sickening feeling began to churn in his gut that she was finding satisfaction from his body, he felt his blood run hotter. His skin warmed.

"Oh, baby's hot for me, isn't he?" She moaned, sliding her hand up his back under his undershirt. She ground her pelvis against him and moaned. Then her hand on his back pulled away. He was growing very hot. Niki pulled her hand from his fly and looked up at him with confusion.

Logan's face was red and sweat was pouring off his forehead. She touched his hand but pulled back right away, his skin burning like a stove top.

"Ow," she complained, stepping back. "It's a fucking trick," she growled, giving him a rough shove in the shoulder.

Logan's eyes remained closed and his flesh seemed to burn. After agonizing moments, he opened his eyes again and the Slayer was gone.

--

Logan raced down the street back to the warehouse. Only Pierce could solve this. As he pounded through the parking lot to the open door, he caught the scent of demon insides. Niki was already here.

As quickly as he could, Logan dashed between crates and tables to the dark corner under the lonely hanging light at the back. He stopped dead.

Pierce stood by the chair from which Logan had released him. His arms were crossed and he glared down at the huddled figure in the darkest corner.

"Pierce..." Logan began uncertainly. The vampire barely glanced at him, keeping an authoritative watch over the huddle mass of dejection. "Pierce, tell her—"

"I know," the vampire said tonelessly. "She won't hurt either one of us."

"Tell her," Logan said slowly, his eyes filling with compassion as he looked down at the silently sobbing girl curled up in the corner, "tell her she can never take Stuff again." He glanced sharply at the vampire as the moment of silence passed. "_Tell her_."

Pierce sighed. Closing his eyes he set his jaw and knelt down in the dark corner that was the ruined Slayer's universe. She whimpered and let out a nearly audible sob, her fists pressed into her eyes, her knees under her chin. The vampire leaned in close and opened his lips.

Logan frowned and took a step closer. He wasn't able to hear any of what was said as the Slayer cried and the vampire took from her her only consolation. The human swallowed and turned away from the pair, crossing his arms. At last, Pierce stood and offered a hand to Niki, who stood, wiping the black grime from her eyes with the back of her wrists. She sniveled and walked over to Logan, throwing her arms around him and sobbing into his wool sweater.

Logan threw a look to Pierce, as if demanding to know what was said, but finally, took Niki in a hug and led her from the warehouse. As the morning light greeted them outside, Pierce slowly paced the darkness of the warehouse. After a long moment, he stopped under the solitary lamp. Reaching up, he took the hot light bulb between his fingers and twisted until it flickered out.

--

Logan lay on the couch of Niki's apartment, the Slayer sleeping with her head on his chest. Her head slowly rose and fell with his breath as he watched the commercials. He couldn't think right now. It was all... he closed his eyes. He couldn't think.

He had a beautiful wife and a lovely daughter at home, probably wondering where he was. He had a violent and unstable recovering vampire Slayer on his chest that... somewhere in his life he had loved. Despite everything that any logic told him, he was here instead of at home. He held this girl instead of his wife. And the slowly turning confusion as to where he really belonged: he hated that. He should never have had to make that decision. He should never have been presented with the choice. But the girl on his chest, moving with his breathing, wouldn't survive without him.

Faith Ford appeared on the television screen —almost a spitting image of the Slayer— in her black jacket and shoulder length blond hair for her 'Stop the Madness' Public service announcement. "Statistics show that one drug addict or alcoholic will adversely affect the lives of four loved ones and they, in turn, affect the lives of fifteen other people. How long before we're all statistics?"

Logan shook his head with a smirk. He tilted his head to see the face of the girl laying across him, her expression clouded and held in some private pain. He bent his head down and kissed the corner of her closed eye. And the slowly turning confusion stopped.


	10. Three Days, Three Nights

Three Days, Three Nights Act 1

Joshua Valtaine took in the breathtaking beauty of the sunset. The gentle wind washed over himself, his wife and their daughter. Dressed in their Sunday best, the three sat comfortably on the hillside watching the endless art of this incredible place.

Only Niki had some vague notion of where this was, as if she had been here before. The grass swayed gently and the scent of lavender and wild roses caught the wind. The clouds were spiked with a stunning magenta.

Samantha hugged her daughter snugly and shone a smile at her husband as they watched the never ending sunset – the symphony always reaching the crescendo, but never passing it. A universe on an edge...

Niki awoke from the familiar paradise into a terrifying nightmare. Pain flooded her senses as she tried unsuccessfully to move her head.

Struggling futilely, the Slayer's eyes moved constantly through the darkness of the room. Her breath was rough and fast as the throbbing from her gut told her something was piercing her that wasn't supposed to be there. She groaned as she twisted her head slightly, lances of pain issuing from her neck and throat. With a wave of lightheadedness, she ceased her struggles.

--

_Night 1_

Logan gently shook the Slayer's shoulder, with a moan she focused her eyes on his. "Hey," he said quietly, his eyes dark shadows in the dim room. His gentle squeeze, however, conveyed all he wanted to say. He glanced across her bound body, the bloodied silver spike protruding from her stomach and the silver pins sticking out under her chin. The unimposing _drip, drip_ of the blood into the bucket under the table was a constant reminder of the passage of time.

"Where am I?" she croaked, feeling the horrible pressure of the silver bolts across her larynx.

"Don't you remember?" he asked with a concerned expression, lost in the darkness. "We talked about this already. You're on the Cure Table... the one we had built when you thought I was infected... remember?" Niki blinked. She had no recollection of that discussion.

"Why am I here?" she said hoarsely. Even though she didn't know it, her throat was sore from screaming for hours earlier that night.

Logan's brow furrowed. "You were infected," he reminded her gently. "With the Nosphoric Plague. Do you remember that?" Niki made no indication that she did. Logan swallowed. "Do you remember killing Tom?" She nodded weakly, the unwanted memory of that gruesome morning filling her groggy mind. "It was a few weeks later," Logan continued, "you were almost done rehab, we got a weird report from the Council– do you remember that?"

Niki closed her eyes and tried to think. The memory came to her. Someone had warned them that several Nosphorus had been discovered in Europe and that there might be more in America. "I remember that," she said hoarsely.

Logan nodded. "And we decided that it would be best if you were cured before we fought any kind of battle with them."

Niki's eyes suddenly grew wide. "_Pierce–_ where is he?"

Logan nodded, calming her down. "It's okay, I know Pierce is a Nosphorus. He's the one who infected you. I've been watching him for weeks now. He's agreed to let me tie him up whenever he feeds. He's not a threat."

"Don't trust him," the Slayer argued, shifting her shoulder to lessen the burning pain through her throat. Each word was like swallowing a razor blade. Another wave of dizziness washed over her. The _drip, drip, drip_ of her own blood into the bucket finally registered. "How long do I have to stay here?" she asked.

Logan glanced down, almost as if he was afraid to answer. Each time she woke up, there was no telling what she would remember. "Three more days," he said apologetically. When she closed her eyes, he sighed and held the hypodermic needle to the light cast by the small window. Tapping it gently to separate the bubbles, he squirted some out, then proceeded to inject her with the antibiotic to prevent infection... of the normal kind.

The Slayer winced at the needle prick. "What day is it?" she asked almost inaudibly.

Logan slowly drew the needle from her bound arm. "It's February twenty first," he said gently, "... nineteen eighty six," he added just in case. After a pause, he glanced down at his light up digital watch. "Two sixteen in the morning."

At this, she opened her eyes and tried her best to look directly at him. "What about your family?" she asked, her voice like tires on gravel, still – the worry was evident.

Logan brought his finger to her lips. "Shhh, go to sleep. You don't need to worry about anything but getting better."

"But Pierce—" she countered, her arms tugging against their bonds.

"—is no threat," Logan said reassuringly. "No General means this army has no leader: Pierce is under control."

Niki nodded, then painfully realized she would never attempt that again. She closed her eyes in the darkness of the back room of the Nail Biter, trying to get back to that paradise of the final breath. Logan quietly let himself out.

--

_Day 1_

Pierce took a deep breath and gently touched the Slayer's shoulder. He was confined to the Nail Biter until sundown anyway, he might as well take some responsibility. Ever with his sadistic side, he winced as the Slayer awoke again to realize the agony of simple consciousness.

Her eyes opened and she let out a low groan. Her hands made fists as her eyes found the face of the vampire. "What?" she ground out. The fewer words the better.

Pierce slowly placed a hand on her shoulder, his silver bracelet falling free from his sleeve. With a sudden rush of panic, he snatched his hand back and staggered away from the bound Slayer. The vision the vampire in the park had shown him came back to him – the Slayer waking from a table... a table identical to this and staking him without a thought.

Just as quickly as the vision overtook him, it was gone. He sheepishly tucked the bracelet back into the sleeve of his jacket and approached her again. He knew she couldn't see very far on either side of her, what with the silver pins purifying her bloodstream of the virus...

"_What?_" she prompted, worry creeping into her voice.

Pierce shook his head. "Nothing... Look, I just wanted to say: I'm sorry."

She raised an eyebrow the only amount of acknowledgment she was willing to give.

"I'm sorry for infecting you. I didn't know what I was doing..." he made a little ironic chuckle. "I I don't even know when _I_ was infected. But I want you to know that I'm not a threat." He moved a little closer, swallowing hard. "I I know you don't really like me..." She rolled her eyes but said nothing. "When Addison came to me– wanted me to look after you for him," he shrugged, realizing how lame that sounded, "I agreed..." he winced, shaking his wrist, "not for _this_," the bracelet jingled and glinted in the dim light from the window. "I wanted you to respect me... I wanted to be _someone_ again." He looked at her quickly, as if fearing she would laugh in his face. As it was, the vampire couldn't read her expression. She seemed to be sizing him up, as if trying to see if he were telling the truth. He raised his chin slightly under her scrutiny, as a suspect maintaining his innocence.

The vampire took a deep breath. "Just this once," he said with some small amount of resentment, "I'm going to talk about my past." He settled himself into a nostalgic place of comfort, finally ridding that part of him he had always worried they'd discover about him.

"I was sired about seventy years ago," he began, swallowing at the memory of the times then. "You don't need to know anything about my life before then: just that I wasn't anybody special. A social reject. Then my life changed... ended, really. In a forest outside my ranch." He glanced down from his reverie to see her watching him. Her expression was difficult to determine, but to think she had any sympathy for him was an assumption Pierce was not willing to make.

"My sire was the only model for behavior I had to work with." He gave a small laugh. "I found out later he was actually totally insane. At the time I had believed him when he said he was a king in exile from some distant dynastic Persian land. I followed his every move and did everything he told me," Pierce squinted at the Slayer, "I mean _everything_."

"I became his son, or so he said, and he started calling me Prince." Pierce licked his lips. He was sickened now to think of his innocence in those days. Leopold, his sire, had raised him as if to be a vampire was synonymous with being royalty. "When years later I finally met another vampire, I was totally thrown off. They didn't _respect_," he scoffed, "they didn't treat me the way my sire had taught me to expect to be treated..."

Pierce swallowed hard, considering whether or not to continue with his story at all. Niki's gaze was utterly locked on this vampire with a story. She had never considered that a vampire might feel about his unlife the way she did about her life. That it had been one mistake one regret after another.

"When they finally respected me," Pierce said with a hard look in his eyes, "they were already calling me Pierce, because..." he ground his teeth together, his brow furrowing, "because everyone knew that I staked any vampire who crossed me."

Niki blinked. Though it was difficult to summon up much in the way of pathos for this vampire who had killed likely hundreds, and significantly more difficult to speak, she opened her mouth and drew the pain across her throat. "What was your name?" She swallowed. "Before."

Pierce looked down at her for a long moment. These were things he had never intended to tell anyone. Things he had never intended to even remember again. Now they were carried outside his own memories: as immortal as himself. "My name," he said slowly, "was Samuel. I was twenty two."

Finally she swallowed and gave the barest nod, pursing her lips and drawing a cleansing breath. Realizing this caused a stabbing pain through her gut, she coughed and let it out with a groan Tears were forming at the corners of her eyes. She hated this. Swallowing painfully she couldn't help but think what a crappy Slayer she had turned out to be. Addison had left, putting –admittedly unwanted– trust in her: letting her work without a net. What had she accomplished? She'd failed to prevent the Nosphorus from infiltrating the city. She'd almost got Logan killed when Birk had infiltrated them, fooling her completely. She'd got herself KO'd with a stupid Aztec trinket. She'd nearly killed Logan _again_ when she'd thought he was infected... She scolded herself in her mind: All her delusions about Logan's behavior: all the signs pointing to him as the Plague sufferer... they were all so clearly indicating the exact same thing about herself and Pierce. Then she'd gone postal thinking that medallion Birk's partner had given her was some kind of magic... Then she'd been so dense that she couldn't see what Stuff was doing to her. Somehow, Logan had pulled her through all these times: had forgiven her each time.

At that exact moment, a tear managed to break free from the corner of her eye and roll down to the tip of her ear. She blinked. How the hell had she been willing to let him go? Her eyes flicked to the vampire standing next to her: asking for her forgiveness. For her acceptance. All he'd ever wanted from her was what she couldn't even give herself. She blinked again. All she could see through the tear that was working its way across her vision was the dark shirt and the silver KISS emblazoned across it.

She opened her hand and she felt his fingers interlace with her own. Though her hand was bound at the wrist, she managed to close her hand around his. She squeezed.

The tear leapt free and her vision cleared, all thoughts of forgiveness gone. The thing in the KISS shirt squeezed back, hearing the cracking his force created.

"Hello, doll," the Nosphorus grinned. It had been waiting, all these weeks... Soon all would be ready.

--

Logan looked down at his drink, considering their entire situation. As Diego took his glass, refilling it, Logan glanced up to the mirror, seeing in its reflection the door to the back room.

Beyond that door, he imagined, was Niki, deciding whether or not to forgive Pierce: whether or not to trust him.

"You know I wouldn't be doing this," the big bar owner said gruffly, "if I didn't know for a fact that we're going to need that little girl scout sooner or later." He spun the cap back onto the crystal bottle. "You three have done nothing but damage my bar and its staff for the last eight months." Diego let out a harsh chuckle. "I'm actually having to _look_ for new employees since word got around what happened to old Tom. _Look!_" he scoffed. "Demons used to be lined up around the block to work here. _Now_ look at me!" Diego scrubbed the bar sullenly.

Logan, who was listening to none of this, was staring at the reflection in the mirror. Something was nagging at him: a feeling. He'd missed something. His eyes shifted to the side for an instant, then grew wide as the thought crystallized: Nosphorus.

Logan jumped from his stool: He'd left the book of the Nosphorus in the warehouse months ago when everyone had been after him. That book would be very useful now that the threat was beginning to reemerge. He slapped some money, including a hefty tip, on the bar and dashed out of the bar.

Niki and Pierce would just have to get along without him for a while.

Three Days, Three Nights - Act 2

_Night 2_

"Be silent," the Nosphorus commanded, fully aware of his power over the incapacitated Slayer. "Roll over," he said with a sadistic grin.

Her jaw set —unable to make a noise— Niki's face contorted in exquisite agony as the virus' hold on her brain forced her to attempt the impossible act. With her wrists, ankles and forehead leather-bound to the table, she was only able to twist her abdomen to one side, twisting the silver spike through her gut and back, where it penetrated.

She stifled cries of pain, biting her lip until she drew blood so as not to make a sound. There was nothing more nauseating than the feeling of a foreign object pushing aside one's internal organs - pressing just to one side of the spinal cord.

Even as consciousness threatened to leave her, she couldn't force herself to abort the move, her master watching with a hideous grin. The blood draining into the bucket beneath the table increased from a steady _drip, drip_ to a continual patter and finally a drizzle.

Dizziness overcame the struggling Slayer and her eyes fluttered as she finally felt herself approaching the paradise of unconsciousness.

"Stop," the Nosphorus ordered, seeing her condition. She sagged back on the table, her bleeding slowing as it soaked a broad red circle into her white shirt. The gauze which had been packed around the silver spike was now hanging off her side, soaked with fresh blood. "Wake up," he said and her eyes shot open.

The Nosphorus leaned in close to her ear, the lovely scent of her exhaustion and pain greeting his nostrils. "I could tell your heart to stop beating," he whispered with pleasure. "I could tell your lungs to stop breathing. I could tell you to burn alive: and you would obey me."

Niki's lips trembled, even though her eyes were open, she was barely conscious. The virus was controlling the chemicals her brain was releasing, keeping her awake like a drug might. With a deep breath, she opened her mouth and let her eyes track across her vision to the face of vampiric Pierce.

The Nosphorus cocked his head with curiosity. "Speak," he allowed.

"You won't kill me," she said hoarsely, tasting blood coating her throat. One of the pins in her neck must have pierced a blood vessel. Nothing critical, or she'd be dead by now.

"Won't I?" the Nosphorus asked with amusement.

The corners of the Slayer's mouth lifted with a supreme effort for her to smile. "I know," she croaked, "why you're scary again..."

The Nosphorus straightened, considering this. His eyes searched the memory of the vampire he inhabited. The vampire had been cursed: prevented from transforming to his natural vampiric state. That had changed.

"What do you mean?" the Nosphorus frowned, resting his hands on the edge of the table.

Niki moved her glance back to the ceiling. With the barest smile still on her lips, she said nothing.

"Answer!" her master commanded, leaning over and glaring down into the Slayer's face.

Slowly, Niki opened her mouth. With infinite pleasure, she spat in his face, her bloodied saliva hitting him under the left eye. The Nosphorus snarled and raised a hand to strike her, but stopped. He calmed himself and wiped the blood from his face. He knew his control was slipping: she was being purged of the infection with every drop of blood she lost.

"Once you are off this table," he said with a deep breath, "I will enjoy infecting you again... and again... and again..."

--

_Day 2_

Addison slowly set his suitcase on the curb as the cab drove away. With a deep breath he took in the air of New York City yet again. Logan promptly picked it up and marched to the door of the apartment.

"Where have you guys been?" the lawyer asked with a hint of irritation. "No one's heard from the Council for months!"

Addison raised an eyebrow, as if this were the most inappropriate question one could ask. "We have a great number of matters to deal with. We can't afford the time to send you daily reports."

Logan sighed and shook his head. "Whatever – look, thanks for the heads up on the Nosphorus situation. It gave us time to prepare."

Addison looked sharply at the man, at first completely unaware of what he was talking about. Slowly, however, the information filtered into his mind. "Oh yes, of course." His frown ever-present, he cocked his head in curiosity. "Just how are you preparing for this... situation?"

Logan considered telling the Watcher that Niki and Pierce were infected with the Nosphoric plague, then thought better of it. "Just getting weapons together," the man shrugged it off. "What I'm more interested in," he went on as they stepped out of the elevator on the ninth floor, "is the one who started this whole thing."

Addison nodded. "Ah yes, this 'Creep'. Utter balderdash. Complete fairytale. Nothing more." The old man waved it off and marched into Niki's apartment, indicating to Logan where to drop his things. "I'm disappointed that you've distracted yourself with such a notion."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "Sure," he said uneasily. "Forget I said anything."

"What we should be worried about," the old Watcher argued, sitting down heavily at the kitchen table, "is the rampant paranoia surrounding this minor issue of the Plague—"

"_Minor?_" Logan whirled on the old man, his expression shocked. "One Nosphorus nearly instigated a full-scale war on the streets! There's no telling how much damage someone could do with the power to create as many Nosphorus as he wanted!"

Addison raised a bushy white eyebrow. "Well, then it's fortunate that the book containing the spell to do that is not in enemy hands, isn't it?"

Logan winced internally. "Yes. I suppose it is."

Addison nodded outwardly. _Stupid human_, he thought. _He will_ _be one of the first to die_. "So I should think," the old Watcher said stiffly, "that irrational panic is the prime concern in this case. Wouldn't you agree?"

Logan glanced down at the floor. Things were, unfortunately, much worse than the old man suspected. Logan would have to tell him eventually. But for now... "Yeah," he said resentfully. "You're absolutely right."

--

Niki lay on the gently rolling hillside, her mother squeezing her shoulders with a broad smile on her face, her father with a casual hand on her knee.

The sun was setting: of course. Always in the act of disappearing, always staining the sky new and dazzling colors of red and pink, each more stunning than the last. The quiet wind was gently fingering her hair as the sound of distant lazy music drifted past.

With a little grin, she saw the man coming over the next hill - dressed in his long leather jacket, a broad grin of recognition on his face. She felt her skin tingle at the perfection of the moment. The unending moment.

In the space in time of a blink, the perfection was gone. With a blood-chilling blast of cold air, the sun finally sank below the horizon and darkness fell across the land. Niki's eyes widened in panic as a figure in a black suit, carrying a black briefcase approached her leather-clad lover from behind. Before she could utter a sound, the flash of a knife caught the last dead rays of the sun as it slashed across the man's throat, dropping him to his knees.

Unable to move, Niki lay on the suddenly cold hard ground as the cold wind picked up and the grass became straw, coarse and brittle. With shivers running through her, she awaited the form in the dark suit, nothing but his legs seeming to move as he crossed the barren distance between himself and her family.

With a heart-stopping suddenness, grass all around them burst into flames, an infernal circle rising higher and higher, closing around the suited figure as he approached. Niki heard her mother scream.

In a flash, the figure was upon them, driving his knife into her father's forehead, taking her mother by the hair and throwing her into the flames.

Niki couldn't make a sound as the Creep looked down at her with a calm and calculated face.

"_Wake up Knicks_," he hissed, his mouth open but his lips motionless.

Niki awoke with a hoarse scream on the table, the Nosphorus gone now that the sun was setting. With her breathing ragged and painful, she sobbed into the darkness of the room. The hopeless darkness was silent in return.

Three Days, Three Nights - Act 3

_Night 3_

Niki shuddered into consciousness at Logan's touch. Her lips were parched and there was dried blood in a line from the corner of her lips across her cheek. Before she could speak, Logan drew a cool wet cloth across her mouth, squeezing the cold water into her mouth. Momentarily, her troubles were forgotten and she drank, sucking hard on the cloth. Logan proceeded to wipe her face clean and finally patted her sweat covered forehead with a frown.

"Logan," she croaked, her eyes closed.

"Shh," he said gently, rearranging the gauze around her stomach wound.

"_Dammit, Logan_," Niki growled, her eyes glaring through the darkness at the man who stood over her. "Would you just listen to me?"

With a look of concern, he drew closer so she wouldn't have to speak so loudly. "What is it?

"Pierce," she said with a raw voice, "isn't Pierce any more. He's a Nosphorus— fully and totally." Logan kept his gaze concerned and troubled. Not an eyelash batted. To the full extent she could, Niki turned her head in amazement. "You don't believe me."

Logan shrugged. "It's not that I don't believe you," he said apologetically. "You're in a great deal of pain, you're having delusions – hallucinations."

"_Dammit Logan!_" the Slayer shouted, her throat bleeding freshly. "I'm not hallucinating! He came in here, he vamped out, he said he'd been waiting for this. You _have_ to kill him."

Logan sighed, drawing in a deep breath and slowly letting it out. He knew she was right. He had never intended to allow Pierce to survive this ordeal, but he had hoped to first glean all usefulness from him in the upcoming encounter with the Nosphorus. Now, however, it would seem the General was back. The army was being called up.

"Do you want me to let you out?" he asked seriously. It was the only way he could think of to test her. If she was hallucinating in order to find a means of escape, she wouldn't hesitate at this chance.

"No," she said with a clenched jaw. "I trust you. Besides, he can't kill me."

Logan felt in his pocket for a new hypodermic syringe and the tiny glass bottle of penicillin. "Why not?"

Niki couldn't help but smile. "Because of _how_ he can vamp out: The curse was lifted until he gets vengeance on me... until he kills me. As soon as he does, it's back to being the Little Vampire That Couldn't."

"Vengeance?" Logan asked skeptically. "On you?"

Niki made a little laugh then winced as the action raked her throat. "On your behalf, actually," she explained. She winced again as the hypodermic pricked her arm. "The demon who temporarily lifted the curse thinks I broke your heart." She had amusement in her eyes but when they met his, they encountered something she didn't expect.

Logan glanced down at the floor and swallowed. "Imagine that," he said with a hollow chuckle. After a moment he glanced up and began to unbuckle her wrists and ankles.

"W- what are you doing?" she asked with worry. "We can't fight what's coming if I'm not cured."

"I know," Logan said, laying the leather bonds back across her outstretched arms and legs to make it appear as if she was still bound. "But I can't fight what's coming on my own if you're dead. This is just a little... insurance."

"Is Addison here yet?" she asked, the despair of the darkened room momentarily abating. Perhaps things were back in control. Thank God for Logan Kilpatrick.

"Yeah, he's cooling his heels in your apartment." Logan's eyes shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "He... uh, he doesn't know about you and Pierce."

Niki smirked. "Hmm, won't he be shocked?"

Logan licked his lips. "There's one more thing." To the Slayer's raised eyebrow, he absently scratched an eyebrow with his pinkie. "You remember when you were all after me... to get me on this baby–" he knocked on the wooden table, "and I went postal and killed Hobbs?"

Niki nodded as slightly as she could. "That's one each now, I think."

Logan winced. "Yeah, um, that book I stole... I kinda lost it."

Niki's brow furrowed. "What book?" After a moment of silence, her expression registered her sudden realization. "_That_ book?" Logan winced. "The book which tells exactly how to make a Nosphorus from nothing but a vampire?"

Logan took a deep breath. "Yeah, that book— _well_, I should be out looking for Pierce, shouldn't I?" He took a step when Niki's hand lifted from the leather strap and grabbed the hem of his black sweater.

"It could just be the Plague talking, but I think you should make an effort to find that _book_... before Addison finds out and eats you alive. Don't you think?" The Slayer could almost forget the stabbing pain through her gut as she glared at the man heading quickly for the door.

--

_Day 3_

In the artificially lit underground parking lot, Addison walked casually until he came to one of the concrete pillars holding up the ceiling. Stopping, he turned and crossed his arms.

After a moment, Pierce —or what looked like Pierce— stepped out from behind the pillar. "How was your flight?" he asked calmly, his hands deep in the pockets of his dark jacket. "Jet lag?"

Addison smiled, baring his teeth. "Indeed."

"What is the situation in Europe?" the Nosphorus asked, his tone cold and calculated. Like a good slave, the old man had done what he had been commanded to do.

"They are ours," Addison reported with pleasure. "The entire Council."

"The _entire_ Council?" the Nosphorus prompted, his head tilting to one side. "Then where did message warning of our coming originate?"

Addison swallowed. "One Council member did escape," he admitted, nausea churning in his stomach for having failed, even so slightly, to obey his master's wishes. "We have been unable to track him."

The Nosphorus snarled. "We shall deal with him in due time. He is likely still in England." With his calm and calculating tone returning, the Nosphorus made a small bow. "You have done well. Soon we will assemble the army for the great one. He shall bring about the New Reign. And all shall be righted once more."

Addison nodded. "What are your wishes?"

The Nosphorus thought about this. "We need to kill the Slayer before our power is taken from her. We cannot afford her interfering as she did before."

Addison frowned. "Have you not killed her yet?"

"Silence!" the vampiric master raged, striking the old man across the cheek. With a whimper, Addison went down on his knees, his eyes averted. He made no sound. "Listen," the Nosphorus explained gently, after he had a moment to calm himself, "listen and obey." Addison nodded. "You must kill the Slayer: I cannot, or I will lose my ability to kill."

Addison lifted his head, looking like he had something to say. The Nosphorus sighed. "Speak."

"Begging your pardon," the old man said apologetically, "but I surely cannot kill the Slayer. And you yourself are of no consequence. Once the Slayer is dead, the great one will not miss a single Nosphorus."

The thing in Pierce's body nodded. There was no insult there. He was entirely correct. All was to serve the greater good of ridding the planet of all impure and mongrel creatures. Only the pure would remain. Then the Old Ones would return. "You are correct," the Nosphorus admitted. "We are of no consequence." He thought for a moment. "I shall kill the Slayer, then you shall kill her male. Then the great one will be unchallenged." He motioned for Addison to rise. "Listen and obey."

--

The vampire in the black suit slowly turned the page of the book. The Nosphorus surrounding him were growing restless. But they would obey him. There were at least as many vampires tied and unconscious in the other room. Soon they would all be Nosphorus.

To each of the Nosphorus filling this room, there were ten infected humans, going about their lives, unaware they were soldiers in an army poised to rid the world of the plague called humanity. There was just one last thing to attend to...

"Victoria," the vampire in the black suit said politely, turning his attention to the girl sitting happily on the suitcase in the freight storage warehouse.

Her expression read something in his tone and her face became somber. "Is Diego dead?" she asked worriedly. Always her affection for the current bartender kept her attuned to reality. If it weren't for their visits, the dreams she had might drive her truly insane.

The vampire smiled. "No, of course not. You know that could never happen, don't you?" She nodded, scolding herself for thinking it. "Do you remember why?" he asked with an appropriately patronizing tone.

She nodded again. "Because he has pure blood."

The vampire nodded with a grin. "That's right. And what happens to those with impure blood?"

Victoria seemed to be searching through the gauze across her face for the answers. "They're... purged?" She attempted.

"That's right," the vampire smiled. "You've seen that, haven't you?"

Victoria nodded vigorously. "Uh huh, I saw it last night." She knew what answering affirmatively would get her.

The vampire smiled even more. "That's very good. Would you like some more candy?" She giggled and took the package of m&m's that he placed in her hand. He momentarily glanced up at one of the hideous rat-faced Nosphorus fresh from infection as the thing walked by. He reached for his black briefcase which lay open on the chest of the dead security guard from the institution where the girl had been living. "Now, Victoria," he said with a hint of sternness in his voice to make her pay attention. He removed the small vial of white powder from an interior pocket. "I have one more question for you."

--

Pierce looked down at the Slayer laying on the table. Even though she was unconscious, the virus in her brain would be able to hear his commands. That part of her brain never slept. It needed to acknowledge only one more command.

Addison stood behind him near the doorway. The Nosphorus leaned over the table and took a deep breath. He would enjoy this. "Die."

Three Days, Three Nights - Act 4

Logan jerked the crate with his toe. It had to be here somewhere. He shook his head. What a mess this was. If the Creep had the book, then somewhere there was an army of nearly invincible vampires with the power to infect anyone they bit — and likely a tenfold army of nearly as powerful infected humans ready to tear every human being in New York City limb from limb.

Logan squinted in the dim light. He rounded the stack of plastic-wrapped cardboard boxes and found the metal chair to which he had tied a vampire months ago and infected him with the Nosphoric Plague in order to prove he himself was not infected. Logan found the exact place where the book had been resting. And was no longer so. He sighed and began to search around the boxes. With a frown, he looked up at the hanging light fixture. The single light bulb was dark. Tentatively, Logan reached up and give it a twist. The glass object flickered to life, casting harsh shadows across his face. Logan's eyes stared off into the distance. An idea was forming in his mind. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on...

He dashed out of the warehouse, knocking the metal chair over in the process with a clang. There was one more warehouse that needed checking.

--

He would enjoy this: "Die."

A flicker of a snarl flashed across the Slayer's lips. Faster than the Nosphorus' mind could register, even with the enhanced chemical cocktail driven by the virus living there, Niki pulled her arm from the unfastened restraint, clutched the edge of the wooden table and tore.

Pierce had just enough time to resurface from inside his overridden mind —his features returning to those of a human— to see the jagged wedge of wood find its way through the last S of KISS. He blinked and time seemed to slow - as it always did in moments of perfect vengeance. As he had always imagined, the pain flashed outward from his vampire heart and consumed him with nothing so much as a cold indifference. Not even a word escaped his lips before he collapsed to dust on the floor.

The silver bracelet landed on the floor with a sound like a tiny bell.

--

Logan walked into the second warehouse of interest. Here, he had also held a vampire tied to a chair. Pierce. He had tested the Prince's memory to check for evidence of the Plague. Here is where the vampire had ordered Niki to quit the drug which had owned her.

Glancing up, Logan saw the light bulb twisted out of the circuit. With a sneer of victory, he gave the bulb a hard turn and it popped back on, flooding the room with light. The man's eyes widened as the harsh shadows stretched away from him, the wall before him jumping to life.

A dead pimp lay in a corner, pale and ghostly, preserved in the sub-zero temperatures of the New York City nights. Scrawled in blood —presumably that of the pimp— across the wall before Logan were two words.

_FORGIVE ME_

Logan, his heart skipping a beat, turned and dashed back the way he had come as fast as his legs would carry him.

--

Addison watched as his master fell as ash to the floor, the old man's eyes widening. He opened his mouth a let out a shout of fury, his eyes fading to white, the plague taking over completely. He charged.

Niki quickly reached up and unfastened the strap over her forehead. Before her former Watcher had taken a step, she pinched the tips of the silver pins protruding from her throat and pulled. With a groan of vicious pain, she tore the pins from her body and leapt from the table, the silver spike gliding easily out her back where it had entered.

She landed on her feet but felt immediately lightheaded. Three days of blood-loss took its toll and she barely managed to block the random and savage blows the old man threw at her.

Her eyes were mostly closed, forcing her to rely completely on the instincts honed from hours of blindfold practice. She ducked low, her motions sluggish and weary, but intentional and effective. Each of Addison's blows were deflected, each of his lunges avoided. But his stamina was virus driven and unlimited. Hers was wearing down.

She had delivered a kick of her own to the side of the old man's head, which only seemed to fuel his anger, but was now on the defensive, barely able to summon enough energy to hold her ground.

--

Logan stood at the open door of his brand new Pontiac Acadian. This was ridiculous. The Nail Biter was ten minutes away running every single light. He closed his eyes. There was a first time for everything. Quickly opening them again, he reached into his glove box and grabbed the two things he'd need. Holding one in each hand, he closed his eyes again and concentrated.

Suddenly and almost unexpectedly, the amateur conjurer vanished in a twist of light.

--

Niki slumped against the table, her mouth filled with blood. One hand on the hole which worked its way through her abdomen without piercing any major organ and the other blocking the furious slashes of the old man who was desperately trying to tear her to pieces. Consciousness —what was left of it— was slipping away.

With a twist of light, her eyes opened and Logan was standing just inside the door. Addison turned on him, the old man's eyes white and his mouth open to a snarl. With a shriek, he met the directed beam of Logan's flashlight, closing his eyes and slamming shoulder to chest into the man.

The two tumbled to the floor and the flashlight spun away into the darkness. It didn't occur to Logan just then, but that flashlight had seen his very first battle with a Nosphorus several months ago and hadn't had its batteries replaced since then, which is likely why it flickered and died in the back room of the Nail Biter at that very moment.

Niki considered this as she sank to the floor, the inert device being the last thing she saw before she hit a pile of dust on the floor, unconscious.

Logan grabbed the rabid Addison by the collar and lashed out with the other thing he had chanced to bring. The curved Aztec blade sliced through the old man's shirt and skin, drawing perhaps a great deal more blood than was necessary. But Logan didn't care.

The old man collapsed into his arms instantly, a look of utter bliss on his perfectly human face. Letting him sink to the floor, Logan stood, his blade at the ready, searching the darkness for the Nosphorus he knew to be there. But he was alone now. His eyes shifting suspiciously, he crept over to the Slayer on the floor and lifted her into his arms.

Just then a smell caught his senses. He lifted his fingers from her bloodied white shirt to his nose. The ashes slid between his fingers. Still warm...

Logan Kilpatrick closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. When he opened them, he was looking down into the face of Niki Valtaine. He let his breath out and brought her face up to his own. His considered placing one of his usual gentle kisses on her forehead or eyelid, but with a sudden burst of anguish planted his lips firmly on hers and kissed her as hard as he ever had. She slowly stirred and responded.

Soon he let her down from his arms and they broke the kiss. Without a word, they both lifted Addison onto the table and adjusted the silver spike and pins. Niki took no pleasure as she tightened the straps around his wrists and ankles, taking care to brush his white hair back from his forehead as she wrapped the strap across him there.

When a tear rolled down her cheek as she slid the pins through her adopted father's throat, Logan's hand found hers. She locked eyes with him and swallowed hard. Bending down, she found the silver bracelet Addison had given Pearce. She slid it onto her wrist and it hung loosely, threatening to fall off.

Logan's hand slid around her waist and he pulled her to the door. What was done was done. That, however, was no answer to the tears.

--

_Night 1_

Logan and Niki raised their beers under the center light of the Nail Biter's bar. Three days, they knew, and Addison would be cured. Then the battle would begin. Perhaps the final battle.

"Can I propose a toast?" the newest barkeep asked, tipping his fedora higher on his brow. Niki and Logan shrugged in unison. Whistler nodded. "To royalty."

Niki closed her eyes for a long moment, then raised her bottle to touch Logan's, her bracelet catching the light. "To royalty."


	11. New Reign

New Reign - Act 1

Her fist was closed. Her nails were biting into her palm as she held her fist as the formidable weapon it was. Hard and fast, as merciless a killer as any demon.

"You are a vampire slayer: These are your assets." _Thud– thud–_ Her fists punished the punching bag. Logan was here, but only as a voice: her world was restricted to her assets and her targets. "Your speed." A bamboo cane came out of nowhere and whizzed above her head as she ducked and spun away. "Your strength." The punching bag launched itself towards her along its track but she caught it, shoving its massive bulk back into her attacker. "Your cunning."

With a sudden back flip, Niki dodged the knives that came at her from the darkened other side of the room. Each struck and stuck into the wall inches behind her. As the final blade entered the boards, she lowered herself stealthily into a crouch in the deepest shadows. Her attacker strode from across the room, a lethal rapier cutting the air around him with sharp cracks.

He was thin and fit, the speed of his weapon testifying for his strength. His boots were black and tied with laces up silver eyelets. His dark blue denim jeans bore several blood stains and were threadbare at the knees. His close fitting black sweater obscured his form in the dim light, throwing his face into high contrast. His pale face which had seen too many injuries in others and too few in himself glanced quickly and alertly from shadow to shadow, his close cropped blond hair beginning to stick together from perspiration.

His hands were as invisible as his sweater in the dim light, sweeping the air in black leather gloves. The rapier was the only indicator of his intentions as he crossed his own steps in search of his prey. The steel cracked as he swept it through the dense atmosphere, a bolt of electricity shivering into anything it touched.

"You are a vampire slayer," he repeated, the air buzzing with tension as his sword searched for flesh. "What are your assets?"

With a flash of lightening faster than anything he had conjured, one of the knives tore past him and sliced the cord supporting the board above the room's small window. With a thump, the room was plunged into complete darkness.

There was a snicker of laugher from one of the corners and Logan's sword was bent into the wall there in less than a heartbeat. But of course, Niki was not there.

Logan first felt the warm breath in his ear as the cold metal slid around the back of his throat. With her hand on his forehead and her blade at his jugular, he could do nothing but share her laugh. "Try it."

They both groaned as the room's light flashed on. Shielding their eyes and squinting in irritation at the figure at the door, Niki lowered her knife from Logan's throat and Logan lowered his own from her gut.

"If you kids are done," Whistler flashed them a skeptical look, "Mr. Addison is awake." The barkeep left the back room of the Nail Biter which had been emptied of precious liqueurs and filled with deadly weapons. The demon reentered the other room which had been emptied of various ales and filled with a torture table and an old man.

Addison groaned and mouthed a curse as he looked up into the faces of Niki Valtaine and Logan Kilpatrick. "_You..._" he muttered glaring at the girl.

Niki frowned and tilted her head to Logan. "Give us a minute," she said gently. Logan nodded.

"If I don't see you... before," Logan said quietly, "then good luck." He turned and followed Whistler out.

The slayer helped the old Watcher sit up from the table where he'd been recovering from his three days on the Cure Table. They'd bandaged him up and let him sleep in drug-induced bliss for two days after the Nosphoric infection had been purged from his blood.

The man looked up from a pale face framed by hair that was whiter than ever. "How long?" he said at last, his voice still a little sore from the unique experience.

"How long since you went under, or how long since you got infected?" Niki raised an eyebrow which might be misconstrued as amused, but was simply appealing to the rapport that the two now shared.

"The infection..." the man squinted trying with difficulty to remember the last few months. "When was that?"

Niki shrugged. "We don't know. It could have been as long ago as last September. What's the last thing you remember clearly?"

Addison blinked his forehead furrowing. "I- I'm not sure. What's the date?"

"March first."

Addison's gaze narrowed on her in astonishment. "Nineteen eighty _six_?"

With a face of stone, Niki blinked. "Nineteen ninety one." After a beat she cracked a smile. "Just kidding."

The old Watcher sighed, his hand catching his chest in relief. "Don't do that to an old man," he warned, lifting himself from the chair. "What's happened?"

Niki stood and followed him closely, afraid he might collapse. "Not much. Wars, plagues, the occasional hippy uprising." She swallowed as he stretched his legs and began to pace in his classic lecture mode. "Actually, there's something kinda big coming up."

The man who had been a father in all the ways that didn't matter raised a curious eyebrow. "If you think it's big, there must be some merit to it."

"For the past few months," she explained, sitting herself down, "none of which you can apparently remember... you've been working with the Nosphorus in Europe to infect the Watcher's Council with the Plague." She might have continued, but she let him digest that for a moment. He sat.

"I see." His eyes examined the floor worriedly. He exhaled. "Was... I successful?"

The Slayer nodded slowly. "As far as we can determine, you got all but one of them. That's why we haven't heard anything from across the pond since you returned– except this." She carefully unfolded the small piece of paper and handed it to the perplexed Watcher.

_Slayer: Concerning Nosphorus. There appear to be more in Europe. We have to assume there are some in America, likely in New York. Destroy them as soon as possible at all costs._

_-R_

Addison squinted at the small handwriting. "I don't recognize it," he said at last. "The only Council member whose sir initial is R is Sir Kyle Raleigh..." he blinked rapidly as a memory forced its way into his mind. "And... I _believe_ I got him first."

Niki shrugged. "Well, that was when we decided it'd be better if I were cured ASAP. And Pierce..." She let the comment hang there as the elder man picked up the tone and guessed the rest. He looked down, the paper falling from his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "He and I–"

"I know," Niki replied with the same volume. She held out her wrist and the bracelet which hung from it. "And..." her throat tightened, "thank you."

After a long silence, he looked up with a newfound resolve and solitary peace behind his eyes. "So what are our plans?"

Niki looked up and met his eyes with the look she had only ever given to her father. "I'm ready to be the Slayer."

--

Logan reached across the island in the center of the Kilpatrick kitchen and took the coffee Rachel had poured for him. He glanced around for the cream with a frown when he met his wife's gaze as she held the carton with a sardonic gleam in her eye. She poured and stirred for him before letting him take his mug. But he didn't drink.

For the shortest of all the long moments between them, he kept his gaze locked with hers. The coffee got cold in that short moment. "Hanna's going to miss the bus," Rachel said at last, breaking the gaze and closing the cream before it expired.

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind," Logan smiled, never taking his eyes from her.

"I'd mind," Rachel replied, folding the newspaper crisply in half and handing it to him. He grinned and tucked it under his arm as he rounded the island and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Have a nice day, sweetie," he said with a friendly sneer. This prompted a smirk from her and she smacked him gently on the arm.

"Your daughter will be late," she reminded.

He nodded and hurried to the door where Hanna was waiting, sullen and cynical as mornings always found her.

"I hate taking the bus," she said bluntly. "Why can't you drive me?"

Logan shrugged apologetically. "The other kids' parents called me and told me they weren't getting enough of you, what could I do?" Hanna gave the sneer which said that he wasn't funny anymore. Logan flashed a smile and tugged at her chin patronizingly. "Oh, you're so cute when you're not taking crap."

"_Mom,_" Hanna called into the kitchen, "dad's swearing again."

Logan snatched his coat and hustled them outside before the lecture could get started. The bus stop was only a few houses down, but habit kept Hanna from wandering outside without her father or mother. It never registered to her as odd for an eleven year old not to be allowed to leave the house without an escort. This was just the way it was.

When they got to the bus stop, they found that they were in fact early. Now it registered to Hanna and she went into preteen embarrassed mode. There was nothing worse than standing around with her dad. He was always so... _I love you Hanna_.

Today, however, he was oddly silent. Only when the bus appeared at the end of the street did he speak up. "You know why I can't drive you, right?"

Hanna shrugged. "Work. It's always work."

Logan shrugged and nodded candidly. "Well, yeah, it is. But this week it's very important work."

"You gonna get promoted?" she asked, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder as the bus approached.

"Wouldn't _that_ be nice..." he pondered. The bus screeched to a halt. "Hanna," he said, taking his beloved daughter by the shoulders and turning her sullen face to him. "I know I say it and you eventually stop listening... but I _do_ love you."

She sighed and nodded, trying to wrest herself from his grip as the bus's doors creaked open. "If you loved me, you'd drive me to school," she answered with a smirk.

Logan laughed and let her go, quickly kissing two fingers and touching her forehead as he sometimes forgot to do these days. She trudged up the steps into the bus and he called after her. "_Have fun._"

--

Niki felt the weight of the short sword in her hand. She had never trained with anything so... medieval before.

"Feel the grip the sword gives," Addison directed, lifting the buckler lashed to his left arm and raising the short sword in his right. "You'll have to figure out how hard you need to squeeze."

The Slayer swung the sword experimentally and let its own weight do some of the work. It had a clean cut and made a pleasing sound as it parted the air. "Have you been able to remember anything else about the past few months?"

Addison widened his stance and began to circle the Slayer, threateningly, forcing her to turn around and follow him. "Not a great deal," he admitted. "It's all rather like a dream and it only comes in floods of feeling and impressions. I gather I was having quite a good time over there, getting some real results from the Council for once, even if it involved having them all bitten by infected vampires." He took a warning swing near her and she took a step back, gripping the sword with both hands. "Attack me," he ordered.

Niki dropped one hand from the sword and straightened. "Are you serious?"

Addison laughed and raised his buckler, stepping quickly from side to side. "Come on, then!" he poked the air to her left with his sword and stepped quickly back again.

Niki sighed with amusement and lifted her sword high above her head.

--

Logan tried to relax as the _fasten seat belts_ light went off. The high pitch sound of the engines had faded into the background and he resigned himself to his situation. Goodbye New York. Goodbye Rachel, Hanna. Goodbye Niki.

"Nuts, sir?" the flight attendant asked, offering a tray from her trolley.

"Must be," he agreed, closing his eyes and sliding the window blind down. "Just wake me when we get there."

New Reign - Act 2

The vampire in the black suit set his briefcase on the windowsill. Protected from the deadly rays by the awning, he stepped to the extent of its protective shade. Soon the Slayer, and indeed all the people of this city would see what he was made of: that there was no standing in the way of the deluge and that the Old Ones were indeed coming.

This would convey exactly the message he wanted to pure bloods around the world. We're here. We're back. _Come forth and be not afraid_.

He despised working during daylight hours, as any reputable vampire did, but it was all necessary. Clearing his throat, he looked about at the pedestrians and bumper to bumper traffic. He would have preferred to make his point with Nosphorus; spreading the plague at the same time, but alas, modern mongrel vampires –even those carrying the plague– were unable to survive in simple daylight. Why waste the captains anyway, he thought, the cannon fodder would do the trick.

"Now," he said quietly. With a chorus of screams, the windows of the coffee shop behind him exploded outward and showered the busy sidewalk with glass. Out from the shop windows and doors poured rank after rank of the Creep's army. White eyed and blank faced, they marched into the screaming crowds which tried to trample themselves in panic.

Car doors sprang open and people scrambled over their hoods and leapt over the roofs of taxis to the other side of the street. With the sudden and silencing crash, a body hit the windshield of one of the stopped cars. All heads turned to the shattered storefront and the white eyed New Yorkers who stood there, preparing.

"People of New York," the vampire in the black said with his hands raised theatrically, "panic." On mental cue, the army began to do what it had been designed to.

Eleven minutes after the first body hit the windshield, a line of riot police rounded the corner and came face to face with the battle, already in progress. Trapped between the crazed zombies and the trampling feet, the pedestrians and motorists were pressed against the shops across the street from the coffee shop. Most of the shops against which they were pressed were already broken and as soon as the police arrived, a new wave of panic enveloped the citizens.

Several of the police officers in riot gear ducked behind their shields as a shotgun went off in the midst of the terrified people. The infected were crossing the street, marching and scrambling and leaping completely over the cars which made an ineffective wall between them and their targets.

With blood covering her shirt, the first of the infected fell from the roof of a Buick and landed dead on the pavement. The others continued unabated, pouring over the dead from both sides as the shotgun erupted several more times, joined by revolver shots and the sounds of cars smashing into each other at both ends of the block. Suddenly a stream of smoke arced from the police line and landed between the cars and the coffee shop. The can rattled across the concrete and the rising cloud of teargas soon obscured many of the unperturbed infected.

A megaphone found its way to the front of the line of police. "_Attention, this is the police. Stop where you are and get down on the ground_." It was not until the first infected got through the sporadic bullets and reached the cowering crowd that the police opened fire.

Three more cans of teargas landed amid the crowd and many ordinary citizens were now on the ground coughing and clawing at their eyes. Rubber bullets were flying this way at that, directed primarily at the people on top of the cars, but hitting anyone in the way.

Then the army turned its attention to the police line.

Seven minutes after the first riot shield was battered down under the fist of one of the infected, Special Weapons and Tactics arrived and blocked off the opposite intersection with their vans, setting up positions in neighboring buildings. The chaos which was raging beneath the clouds of teargas between the surviving riot police, SWAT units and nearly invincible infected New Yorkers made the vampire in black sigh with satisfaction. Nothing demonstrated the elegance of his plan better than simple human panic. Nothing would save humanity.

Niki dropped down into the battle beneath the deck of cloud that threatened to descend and drop anyone without a mask or virus-borne immunity. Her first instinct was to look for the characteristic vampire or Nosphorus form, but none were to be found. Obviously, she scolded herself; it was still daylight.

Niki was standing by the open door of a taxi when one of the infected grabbed her from behind. It was suddenly clear why the police were so confused. It was human versus human, and with no apparent distinctions, the police were firing rubber bullets and pepper spray at everyone randomly. SWAT was doing much better than the riot police since they had decided to shoot anyone who was not coughing from the teargas. They would soon shift their attention to her, she realized, if she began to display suspicious superhuman strength.

With a jerk of her head, she got the infected man in the face and grabbed him by the shoulder, intent on hurling him to the ground. Instead, she gave him a jab to the gut and twisted to face him. Then she frowned.

Aside from the white eyes and the expression of a sleepwalker, she noticed something else that shouldn't be there. A small red dot dancing over the infected man's cheek, slowly making it's way over to his temple.

Niki backpedaled in time to avoid the spray as the sniper's bullet tore through the man's skull and he jerked to one side, then fell to the asphalt.

"_Shit!_" the Slayer shouted, ducking to the ground and crouching near the driver's door of the abandoned taxi cab. With snipers invisible above the clouds slowly dissipating between the sheer buildings on both sides of the street, the war zone was more dangerous than she had thought.

Just as she was thinking of making a hasty retreat, the windows of the cab exploded outwards with the force of the body hitting its roof. Having fallen from six storeys, the sniper made a terrific dent in the metal, his rifle shattering on the nearby sidewalk. Glass from the window out of which he had been thrown rained down around the car. Seconds later, another body came sailing down out of the deck of cloud.

Niki looked down at her black leather jacket and the blood already covering her sleeves. The snarl made her look up and she was already on her feet at the infected crossing guard set eyes on her. With a wide kick, she caught him in the jaw but he seemed as though he hadn't felt it. With an iron grip, he grabbed her shoulders and threw her against the wrecked taxi.

A riot police officer ploughed into him, shield first, his club bashing the infected man repeatedly, forcing him to the ground. Only when the crossing guard had stopped moving did the police officer turn his attention to Niki who was still staring intently at the fallen enemy.

"_Miss_," the cop yelled over the tumult of the battle behind him. "_Miss, get behind the police line! Miss!_"

Niki looked up into the masked face of the officer just as the crossing guard's hand lashed out and caught his ankle, pulling him to the ground. In a heartbeat, Niki delivered a brutal kick across the infected man's face, snapping his head to the side. He didn't move after that.

She helped the officer to his feet and decided it was time to leave. As she moved behind the line of riot shields, her hands in the air, she heard the _tat-tat-tat_ of automatic weapons firing live ammunition into the crowds.

--

"Violence erupted today as police battled civilians in the streets in front of Tim's Coffee Shop. The Chief of Police refused to comment, but reportedly called this an incident of drug related gang violence..." the anchor shuffled the papers on her desk next to the television screen showing clouds of tear gas and running bystanders. "There's no official report yet on the number of casualties, but we're told it could be anywhere from five to fifty– yes, that's right, as many as _fifty_ civilians and police officers killed on the streets of New York City. In this unprecedented spike of drug related gang violence, the Mayor condemns the use of street drugs and the effects they have on city youth. Indeed, statistics show that drugs–" The television snapped off as Addison made his way from the cramped living room to the kitchen where Niki sat with a bag of ice on her shoulder.

"What did you learn?" the old Watcher asked, tossing the newspaper onto the kitchen table, covering the various weapons which lay there ready for cleaning. He sat down heavily opposite her, the chair creaking as he felt his bones were also.

The Slayer sighed. "All we need to know." Addison nodded slowly. He drew a short sword from beneath the grim headlines and ran his finger tips along it critically.

"They are vulnerable?" He asked, eyeing the blade. Niki slapped the perspiring bag of ice onto the other blades on the table.

"Only to lethal force," she said harshly. "There were no Nosphorus in the battle - which means they're still vulnerable to sunlight. The infected humans were resistant to teargas and pepper spray, which means something has changed since the last time we fought them."

Addison nodded, setting the blade back on the table. "Yes, the last time we fought them, they were vulnerable to the nitrous oxide that Pearce used on them."

"If that's changed, then the virus has changed." Niki moved her shoulder, feeling her strength returning. "Which means the Creep has the book and can modify his Nosphorus as he needs to."

"Then we must be careful not to reveal any advantages we have until we're certain we can win." The old Brit stood and began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped mid stride. "I believe I shall call up Lieutenant Keller–" Addison turned to the Slayer, "he heads a small government funded military unit which the Council sometimes uses to strike at demon activity abroad."

"This is the first I've heard of it," she said with a trace of resentment.

"In... the past," Addison said with a frown, "we have had to do without a Slayer for often extended periods of time. We felt it was in everyone's interests if we have all of our bases covered."

"And you think this unit would be useful?"

The Watcher was slow to nod. "They have some experience combating the supernatural and do not hesitate to use lethal force."

Niki took in a deep breath. "We'll need everything we can get." Swallowing, she stood and drew the newspaper from beneath the ice and steel. _War Zone in Downtown New York_ "This was a message," she said, eyeing the graphic image captured of the battle. "A message to me. Night or day, he can attack anywhere, anytime he wants."

Addison reluctantly acknowledged and took the paper from Niki's hands. "What's he waiting for?"

The Slayer slowly let out a breath. "I don't know."

--

Logan pushed past the British and tourists alike all dispersing from the terminal into the night to various cars and busses outside the airport. Just as he was raising his hand to hail a cab, a black car pulled up and the passenger door opened.

A suited man approached him and glanced at his suitcase. "Excuse me, sir, I believe we're here to pick you up."

Logan frowned and took a step back, reaching into his jacket for the wooden stake he carried. "Doubtful," he said harshly.

"You're in from New York?" the suited man asked, eying the hand Logan held in his jacket.

"Maybe," Logan said angrily as the suited figure picked up his suitcase. "Hey, why don't you back off?"

"I'd love to, sir," the man said, taking the suitcase to the rear of the car. "But I have orders to take you to a hotel before your meeting with the Council." The man popped the boot of the car and carefully laid the suitcase therein.

Logan's hand left his jacket and he relaxed. "The Council sent you?"

The man stopped. "Of course not," he said with a frown. "I have no idea what Council we're talking about. I just have my orders." Not waiting for a response, he closed the boot and opened the car's rear door. "You're expected at the hotel. We best not be late."

Logan resumed his frown but got in the back seat. He was confident of his ability to defend himself against two of the infected, if that's what they were. The car door closed and the suited man took his seat again. The car sped off and made its way towards the heart of London.

When it got to the hotel, Logan was escorted up to his room with the suited man carrying his suitcase all the way. The room had been reserved, he learned, for the past week and there had always been a car waiting at the airport.

The man in the suit set the suitcase by the bed and turned to go. At the door, he stopped. "The car," he said simply, "will be waiting when you need it."

Logan opened his mouth to answer, but something caught his attention. He slowly took off his jacket and tossed it on the bed, retrieving from the pillow a small note, folded once in half.

_To whomsoever may read this: The Council is infected and cannot be trusted. _

_Use extreme caution._

_-R_

Logan recognized it as the same handwriting as the message they had received several weeks ago. Whoever this _R_ was, he or she seemed to know more about what was going on than they did. Despite the risk, it was obvious that _R_ wanted him to pay the Council a visit, hence the car that was waiting outside.

Logan dropped the note and grabbed his jacket again. He raced out the door and down to the lobby just as the suited man was getting back in the car. He let out a small laugh.

--

With a crash, the Nosphorus was thrown through the double doors into the main Council chamber where the Council members were in session. The rat-like creature which had been guarding the proceedings was dust before it struck the Council table.

All heads turned as the doors opened again, admitting a strutting man in a black turtleneck. Logan interlaced his fingers and extended his arms, cracking his knuckles with a satisfied sigh. As the Council members stood, their eyes fading to white, electricity erupted between Logan's fingers. "I've wanted to do this for years."

New Reign - Act 3

Whistler stepped out of the back room. Diego had just given him some disturbing news. He squeezed around the bar, ignoring the vampire who was looking for trouble.

"There's a revolution coming," he was saying to one of his compatriots. "The kind of revolution that leaves guys like us dead- or worse: in servitude to freaks from some hell dimension."

The two vampires across from him leaned close and glanced uncertainly around before answering in hushed tones. "It's a revolution like that gives evil a bad name. No free reign to feed like we want: hell no. They call us mongrels and say we're next on the chopping block once these–" he dropped his voice an octave lower, "–once these humans are dead." He looked at the vampire on his own side of the table and held eye contact for just long enough to exact consent. "We're planning an attack..."

"We know where the Creep is hiding and we're going to slaughter him before he can slaughter us." He indicated his comrade. "Tonight at quarter past midnight- Steels and his gang is going to hit them. They're hiding at the airport."

Steels nodded once and hunched even closer to their possible new recruit. "Hauser says he's got six muscles he can scare up– That's seventeen altogether. Are you in?"

Hauser and Steels waited raptly as the first vampire considered. He sipped his drink at first, considering and reconsidering. Finally, he lifted his glass of smyte and snarled. "Let's kick the fucker's ass!" The other two grinned and bashed their glasses together.

Whistler slipped around their table and made his way to the back room which had been reserved for just two customers.

--

Niki was balancing on a one inch copper pipe spanning the distance between two sawhorses. Addison stood on the floor a few feet below and wielding his long sword without mercy.

The Slayer sprang into the air as the sword drew across where her feet had been, cutting into the pipe and throwing a copper shaving off into the darkness. She landed with perfect balance and her arms were already readying her as the sword sang back through the air and she had to duck and lean back to avoid it.

With a sidestep, she avoided the sudden down stroke from the older Watcher and for a moment wobbled uncertainly as the blade crashed into the pipe and sent vibrations throughout her whole body. In a second, however, she had regained her balance and drove her toes into the flat of the blade, kicking it off the bar and sending Addison stumbling off balance.

He laughed heartily as he regained his own balance and then came at her again. This time, without blinking, she twisted her hips and he drove the blade through thin air, then her hands slapped together around the massive sword and she gave a tremendous tug.

Addison, however, was ready for this and twisted the shank of the sword, intending to cut open her palms, but she released the blade in time, and leapt over it as he nearly dropped it in the aborted maneuver. It clanged down onto the copper pipe and Addison looked up to see a broad smile flash over the blond slayer's face.

With nothing short of Slayer strength, she jumped off the pipe and caught a truss exposed in the ceiling, inverted herself like an acrobat on a trapeze and launched herself headfirst downward.

Before Addison could even blink, she had extended her arms, snatched the pipe on the way down, where it snapped at the cleft Addison's sword had left, and converted her dive into a roll, coming up on one knee, bringing the long section of copper pipe up before her, like a sword of her own.

With its broken end at the Watcher's throat, Niki's grin was justified. Addison scowled and dropped his long sword, still resting on the remaining piece of copper pipe still secured in its sawhorse.

"Give up?" the Slayer grinned, standing and running her fingers through her sweat soaked blond hair. The Watcher grumbled and snatched the sword from the floor once he was out of range of her weapon…

"Something like that," he agreed. Both their heads turned as the door opened and the new barkeep poked his head in. "Problem?" Addison asked, slipping the sweatband from his brow.

Whistler took that as an invitation and entered, closing the door behind him. "Yeah, actually." The demon poked at the brim of his fedora and sighed. "Niki, you remember that little girl - Victoria was her name?"

Niki's eyes shifted uncertainly as she searched her memories. "Sat on a swing?" She nodded. "Yeah, I remember her."

Whistler's face became grim. In a matter of fact tone, but with concealed inner empathy, he said,

"She's dead."

Niki blinked. The Slayer had only met the little girl once. Victoria, the seer, had been an asset to the various bartenders of the Nail Biter for several years. Her death was a shock to the establishment. Niki felt as though it were expected that she feel sad. She frowned. Looking deep into her core, summoning up the memories of the girl's smile, her concern for Tom, her innocent interpretations of her horrific dreams... Niki realized she had closed her eyes and opened them. With a frown, she realized she had been gripping the copper pipe so tightly, she had crushed it nearly flat and bent a kink into it. Her eyes made their way back to the demon bartender. It was there: the emotion she wanted. She didn't need to look for it.

"Who did it," she asked with smoldering fury.

Whistler swallowed. "You know who did it. And he's hiding at the airport."

After a pause, the Slayer threw the pipe to the floor with a resounding clang. Storming out of the back room, she stopped as Whistler took her arm gently. Her glare informed him exactly what she thought of his restraints.

"Listen," he said gently, "I know you're angry—"

"Angry?" she demanded, pulling her arm from his grasp, "you know I'm _angry?_ You don't know anything about me!" She moved towards the bar– Whistler knowing exactly why.

"I know you still think you're not ready" he called after. Three vampires were getting ready to leave, slipping quietly away from their table. "I know why you're really so angry."

The Slayer turned on him, two paces from the bar. "Exactly _why_ do you think I'm so angry?" She hissed, her hands fists.

Whistler lowered his tone to force her to listen. "You're angry because he forced this on you." Niki's glare didn't waver. "This vampire: this enemy — He forced this conflict onto you and you think you're not ready."

She cocked her head in impatient annoyance. "And I suppose I really _am_ ready?" she demanded, itching to get behind the bar and take what she knew was there.

"No," the barkeep answered simply. Caught off guard, Niki's glare turned into a confused frown.

"_What?_" She looked around for an instant as if this might be some colossal joke at her expense. "What kind of advice is that?" She shook her head. "What kind of barkeep are you?"

"You're not ready," he said again, "and no amount of Stuff will get you ready." The Slayer ground her teeth. She hadn't realized it, but out of instinct, she had been heading for the small vial of white powder behind the bar. She resented Whistler for bringing it up.

"So– what? How do I get ready?" Her glare was now one of festering resentment– aggression unfulfilled.

Whistler shrugged. "You don't." The barkeep calmly walked past her and took the vial of her desires from its place behind the bar. "Not for moments like these," he continued. "These moments aren't like your average moments. They're last call moments. Big moments." The vial was passed from one hand to the other and Niki found herself watching it move back and forth. "No one's ever ready for those moments."

Niki looked up and had steel in her eyes. She offered her hand for him to give her the vial. "So what's the difference?"

Whistler lifted the vial of white powder next to his face to emphasize the gleam in his eyes. "This _is_ the difference."

--

Meg drummed her fingers absently on the steering wheel. Honestly, this red light had lasted for five or six minutes. She was cursed. She was sure of it. Every green on the way to work and every red on the way home. It's like the universe is conspiring to make sure I never got home, she mused.

Then Meg blinked. The light turned green but Meg's foot came off the accelerator. To the sound of a car horn behind her, she slowly reached down and undid her seatbelt. With slow and deliberate motions, she opened her door and stepped out, the car horns becoming more intense. A window rolled down as a man shoved his head out and started screaming at her.

But Meg wasn't listening. The man in the car behind her suddenly stopped screaming as Meg began to walk down the street. This was not what caught his attention. What made him forget about his screaming was that, in the darkness of the late evening, dozens– hundreds of people were walking in the same direction as her. At the same slow, deliberate pace, their faces devoid of all expression.

With a frown and a rising heartbeat, the man quickly rolled up his window and eased his car forward, bumping the rear of Meg's car, easing it into the intersection. He had to get out of here. This was insanity.

Several people who had been standing in a group on the sidewalk were now plodding calmly down the street, ignoring the halted traffic and ignoring each other. As they marched past his window, the man began to panic, slamming his foot onto the gas and driving Meg's car into the rear of the stopped car at the far side of the intersection.

By now, the light had turned red and a Porsche which had just finished a brilliant swerve around a group of careless pedestrians broadsided the man's car and sent both vehicles spinning into stopped traffic.

Through the rising chaos, the water pouring across the pavement form ruptured hydrants and flames leaping into the night from the burning Porsche, hundreds upon hundreds of citizens found themselves marching to some unknown destination, guided only by the subconscious commands being fed to them by something that medical science hadn't seen for millennia.

--

Meg arrived at the airport ten minutes after midnight with everyone in the city who had been summoned. The terminal staff had been overwhelmed and had called the police but had found their telephone lines cut. The airport security had been missing for hours and many of the staff had actually been the first to walk off with blank expressions.

Meg wasn't aware of where she was going, she was just taking the path of least resistance, which happened to be into the thickest part of the gathering crowd trying to get into the freight storage warehouse. Finally most realized that the doors were locked and they contented themselves to stand around the entrances with blank expressions and vacant eyes.

Although she wasn't sure what she was seeing, the woman was certain that the twenty or so men hanging around at the edge of the parking lot were not here for the same reasons as she. They were not dressed as police, nor as airport staff. Then the twenty or so faces morphed into vampiric forms and the twenty or so creatures belonging to those faces charged.

Vaulting over the listless army, Steels and Hauser led their raiding party towards the main service entrance of the warehouse. All the lights were out and they were navigating the night on scent alone.

Steels landed on several blank New Yorkers who stumbled out of the way before righting themselves and then continuing to ignore the intruders. Unnerved, the vampire made his way to the door and tore the lock from the hasp. He ripped the door open and, hearing the sounds of his vampire gang behind him, charged into the darkness.

The ensuing battle was short and unexpected. The Nosphorus had been waiting inside the door for the vampires— waiting ever since Meg had seen them in the parking lot. Eighty six Nosphorus had formed a semicircle around the doorway — nearly one third of all the Nosphorus in the building. To each Nosphorus there were at least a dozen infected humans, all of which were being called: assembled for the coming battle. The eighteen brave vampires had held their ground for less than twenty seconds against the tide of Nosphorus which pressed against them.

Hauser was dragged from the jumble of seventeen bodies –newly recruited captains for the army– and taken before the General, a Nosphorus on either side of him.

The vampire grimaced at the Creep who sat on a crate before him. His senses told him this was a vampire, but his gut told him there was no commonality between them. Unable to help himself, Hauser cringed as the figure in black stood up before him, turning to his black briefcase. With a click he opened it.

There was little light, since all of the light bulbs had been smashed from their fixtures, but the glow from the night poured through the windows and Hauser could see clear enough. Inside the briefcase was an eclectic assortment of objects which the vampire in black now removed, setting each carefully on the crate nearby.

First was removed a white gauze bandage, torn at both ends and stained with blood. Beside it was placed a large silver medallion engraved with a circle crossed by three spears. Near that was lain an ancient looking leather bound book at the sight of which the Nosphorus bared their teeth. On top of the book the vampire in black set a heavy 9mm Magnum Wiley handgun. Hauser tensed. Out of all the items, he recognized the gun. It had been shoved in his face several times at the Biter. Next the vampire drew a curved blade from a protective leather sheath and placed it carefully next to the book. Lastly, the Creep placed a simple key on the crate. The key had started this war. Each and everything else had furthered it to the black-clad figure's satisfaction. But there was one item missing from his personal collection. Before the war was over, he would collect them.

"You know," the Creep began, turning casually towards his captive, "I was exactly like you once." He sat easily back on his crate.

Hauser had never heard quite that accent before. It was extremely subtle – a common trait among vampires who have spent centuries traveling all over the world. "Just like me?" the captive asked trying not to sound too disinterested.

"Very much," the Creep confirmed. Hauser placed his origin as Eastern Europe... perhaps ancient Eastern Europe. "And then I realized something. As an impure blooded mongrel, I was... shall we say transient."

Hauser frowned. He wasn't sure what the Creep was getting at, but he didn't like the mongrel talk. "Oh?" he said noncommittally.

"Yes. As part human – inhabiting a human form, I was less than I could be." He edged forward on his crate, engrossed in his spiel. "I was tainted, you see, by the infection that has overrun this planet since the Old Ones have left."

"It sure looks like _these_ guys are the ones who are infected," Hauser indicated the Nosphorus on either side of him.

"They are my soldiers." The Creep stood, clasping his hands behind his back. He took a step towards one of the Nosphorus – a creature still fully rat-like in appearance. "Not these crude things you see before you... They are not the _real_ Nosphorus. The real army lies within them. It is the pure demon trapped in the mongrel body that is at my command. It is that pure demon that what you call the 'Plague' releases and sends to my service." The vampire in black turned abruptly from his examination of the Nosphorus and moved back to his collection. "It restores that natural order of existence. The mongrels serve the pure bloods –like me– and the pure bloods serve the Old Ones." He lifted the medallion and examined it with simple curiosity. "And of course the human scum serve everyone... but they are of no consequence: livestock, you might say."

"But the Old Ones are dead," Hauser protested, feeling his stomach turn. The Creep whirled on him, moving over and clutching the captive vampire by the throat without seeming to use his muscles. He moved like a breath of smoke. Hauser felt clammy all over, like being immersed in a deep fog.

"They are _not_ dead," the vampire in black boomed, his voice sounding loud but his lips remaining motionless. The two Nosphorus recoiled instinctively into the darkness of the warehouse. The Creep ignored them and finally released Hauser's throat. "They _cannot_ die," he said simply, turning and clasping his hands together again. "And when they return, all will be as it was: as it should be."

"_When_ they return?" Hauser said gruffly, finding himself able to stand now that his two guards were gone. "Why would they come back?"

The vampire in black turned with a look of amusement. "Because," he said with a quizzical smile, "in less than a week, this planet will be theirs for the taking." Now the Creep lifted something new from his briefcase – something Hauser wouldn't have expected to find in a vampire's briefcase. The Creep drew close to his captive, stake in hand. "I've decided to give you a choice," he said politely. "I understand how you feel, being of impure blood: the New Reign doesn't hold much glamour for your kind. So I'll let you decide." He drew the stake closer, his whole body shifting like a shadow in smoke. "Slave or dust?"

--

Logan tightened the leather strap over the brow of Sir Kyle Raleigh. It had been easier than he had thought to incapacitate them. Assuming the Nosphorus he had killed at the doorway had been the one to infect them, the one Addison had infected when he got here, then it would seem that without their captain, the foot soldiers don't put up much of a fight.

He delicately slid the silver pin through the man's throat, maneuvering it with precision around the arteries and between the esophagus and trachea. If the pins were incorrectly placed, they could pinch off the jugular and kill him. If they punctured the major arteries it would mean even faster and messier death. On the other hand, if they didn't puncture at least a few capillaries, there was really no point.

The mysterious _R_ had provided the materials and pre-manufactured components for enough Cure Tables so that the Council could be rid of the infection simultaneously, making Logan suspect that _R_ had provided Hobbs with the book in the first place.

Logan wiped his brow and sat down on the edge of Sir Raleigh's table. In three days, they would be good as new, minus a little psychological trauma. That was unavoidable, however, considering that with the pressing deadline, Logan had no time to tend to them while they slipped in and out of consciousness in perpetual torture. Somehow, that didn't bother him as much as he thought it probably should.

"Does that make me evil?" he said out loud, knowing no one would answer. "If it does, then God help the rest of the world, because I'm about to save it."

--

Niki stepped out of her elevator and marched down the hall with some still festering resentment from her last conversation with Whistler. Who said demons were allowed to be wise? Where was that written? Smart-ass he was... maybe. Dumb-ass she was... _Fuckin' A_. She grinned. That made up for just about ev—

The door opened and her heart skipped a beat. Addison walked in beside her and his expression became grave. The apartment was torn apart. Not a drawer was intact, not a cupboard door wasn't open. The couch upon which she had snuggled with Logan countless lazy days had been shredded, the stuffing flung everywhere. The television screen had been shattered. The blinds had been ripped from their brackets, the windows broken.

"Good Lord," the Watcher breathed, stepping into the fresh air that filled the mess. A breeze tossed some of the beloved couch's stuffing across the floor. "Watch your step," Addison advised as Niki entered, "there's broken glass near the telly."

"It's all gone," Niki whispered. The suitcase filled with weapons Addison brought each time he visited had been opened and looted. The pictures Niki had kept of her parents were shredded. The tapes of Toe Tag City's songs were unwound and laying in shiny dark piles in one corner.

As she pursed her lips, the tauntingly refreshing air filling her mouth, a simple truth slid easily into the Slayer's mind. She tilted her head as it made a home there. With shifting eyes, she read it like a telegram.

"What is it?" Addison asked, touching a hand to her elbow, afraid she might destroy something in classic Niki Valtaine retribution.

"Vampires didn't do this," she said simply. "They couldn't enter without an invitation. It was the infected humans..." She squinted as the idea became clear. "This war has no rules."

Addison looked at her with a similar expression, if only for his complete lack of understanding. "What are you saying?"

Niki finally focused on the man who had been her Watcher. One corner of her mouth lifted just slightly. "I have an idea," she tilted her head, "but you're not going to like it."

New Reign - Act 4

In the din of the darkness — a cough and a splutter. All heads, human and not, turned to the sight.

She stood upon the table near the bar. "_Listen up!_" she tapped her stake on a whiskey glass making it ring. "I don't have to tell you what's goin' on out there." She looked from one face to the next as they just stared at her with criticism and enmity. "I don't have to tell you – because I can show you."

Addison grabbed the shirt collar of the gasping rat-creature and shoved it forward into the midst of the tables. The Nosphorus collapsed to its knees, bleeding and snarling. Several of the demons at the surrounding tables stood and recoiled, the vampires, too, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the infection.

"_This_ is what's going on out there. By the hundreds. And they've infected humans... by the thousands." Several of the demons bared their teeth and glared at her. She continued. "And that's just in this city. The same is happening all over the world." The vampires exchanged almost worried glances.

"Why do you bring that in here?" one of the demons snarled, fearlessly kicking the Nosphorus in the ribs.

"You all know who I am," Niki said fiercely, gripping her stake until her knuckles were white. "And at one time or another, I expect we've all run into each other—" There were some leers and gruff laughs. "But— dammit, this isn't the time to fight each other!" With lightening reflexes, she whipped the stake across the room where it stuck into the wall near the ear of a surprised vampire. "This thing will crush you — all of you, no matter what you think... and I can't stop it." There were more glances exchanged in the darkness. "Not alone."

With a sudden uproar, a big burly demon rose from his chair and gave his table such a kick that it shattered to matchsticks. "_What is this?_" he demanded in a deep voice. He pointed a thick, accusing finger at the Slayer standing on the table. "You think you can come here – speak to me like this?" He took a lumbering step forward and drove a twinge of doubt into the Slayer's mind. "My father was killed by your predecessor– that's all her kind knows," he addressed the other demons around the Nail Biter, "killing our kind. She cannot be trusted!" There were nods and growls of agreement from around the darkness.

Niki nodded. "You're right," she agreed. "I can't be trusted. For all you know, I'm ready to line you up and cut all your heads off." Some of the vampires tensed. "And even if I can be trusted, the Council I work for certainly cannot. They would jump at the chance to slaughter the whole bunch of you—" Addison took a step forward and reached into his long coat, making some of the demons nervous. "And everyone else that works for them," Niki continued, "rogue demon hunters, paramilitary operations, and every Slayer after me... They'd _love_ to see you wiped off the face of the Earth."

The big demon nodded with a snarl. "You see? She'll kill us all."

"I won't have to," Niki cut in, hopping off the table and setting her whiskey glass down. "All I have to do is sit back and do nothing." She walked carefully towards the big demon, gazing intently at his small beady eyes set between thick, stubby horns. "Sit back and watch the Creep march his army through New York City - through the whole state, eventually wiping this country, and all the rest, off the map." She was very close to him now, close enough to see his working jaw, smell his obscene breath. "Nothing would be easier... just sit back and watch _his_ kind–" she took the Nosphorus by the collar and pulled it between herself and the demon who recoiled, "–destroy this world and build a new one."

She dropped the rat-creature and sat herself down on the edge of one of the tables. "Oh, you'll love the new world– those of you who survive to see it, that is. All the humans you can eat... uh, if there are any left once the Plague has run its course, that is. You won't have to hide in the darkness," she made a shifty gesture imitating a fearful demon, "no way! You'll be a big part of the new world... well, a big _slave_ part. But that's _something_, right?" There was nothing but silence now from the big demon and from all the creatures around him.

"The truth is," Addison stepped forward, pulling a small sack from his coat, "the Creep isn't going to go out of his way to see that any but his army survive to the New Reign. And when he wakes the _Old Ones_, well..." he shook his head with a wry smile, "you'll be damn lucky if you wind up as more than fashionable coats." After a poignant pause, the old man overturned the sack and dozens of silver bracelets clattered to the tabletop.

"The Council promises each and every one of you amnesty _if_ you fight for us," Niki raised an eyebrow. "See if you get a deal like that from the Creep."

One of the vampires sneered and strode forward. "We don't need her! She said it herself - she can't beat them. If we stand on our own, we can—"

"We can't," one of the other vamps said sullenly. "Steels and his whole crew: they stormed the airport - had more muscle than even _she_ could handle... they were slaughtered." The vamp stood and crossed his arms. "I think we should just let this whole thing take its course—"

"Shut up, Hauser," the first vampire scoffed. "You've made your point."

"We all know we can't fight them alone," a new voice said from behind the bar, "but we _gotta_ fight." Whistler shrugged. "She's killed more of worse, I say with her on our side, this Creep don't stand a chance."

There were a few nods around in the darkness. The vampire who had spoken against Hauser shrugged his shoulders in one last gesture of defiance. "What great help can she and the Council give us?"

Addison raised an eyebrow. Turning briskly he made his way to the door. As it opened, thirty men in black body armor and night vision helmets, carrying fully automatic machine guns filed in, taking strategic positions around the Nail Biter. Red laser sights crisscrossed the thin smoke that filled the dim room.

The old Watcher gently closed the door. "Any more questions?"

The big demon with the beady eyes grumbled and took a lumbering step forward. With a resentful sigh, he snatched one of the silver bracelets off the table and glared at it. IXI. "How do these things work?"

--

Addison grumbled to himself as he strode down the path of Central Park. Send _him_ to do all the hard work. _That_ must have been Niki's idea. Enlist the enemy, sure... Enemy of my enemy and all that: _sure_... The old man puffed as he made his way towards the particular corner of the park. Several joggers blew past him with little grins. _Oh, shove it,_ the Watcher thought.

He stopped by the boulder to catch his breath. The sun had set and before long a kind of mist began to pour out of the boulder, as if it had suddenly become tremendously cold. Addison's hand pulled off it, just in case, but he knew what was going on.

"Before you attack," the Watcher said to the demon he knew was there — somewhere, "I have a proposition for you." He began to back up and felt the tree at his back. There was a movement of... of the very space around the boulder. It was a low hiss. Addison stared into it, hard, trying to see what couldn't be seen.

Suddenly a hand as dark as the night found his throat, lifting him off his feet and pressing him against the tree. The old man struggled for breath, finally drawing it and coughing out his proposition. "I know you've lost your knife," he croaked. The pressure around his throat lessened a little. "I- I can tell you who has it: Help you get it back... if you fight for us..." The pressure around his throat was suddenly gone and the Watcher collapsed to the ground, sputtering.

--

Logan staggered into the Biter looking quite out of breath. Looking around, his confusion grew, but at the sight of Niki he relaxed a little. She was examining a deadly looking gun as several dozen commando type men chatted and nursed beers. The usual Nail Biter customers were nowhere to be found.

"Where've _you_ been?" Niki said with a grin. "You're missing all the fun."

"Is '_fun_' what happened to the apartment?" Logan retorted, a little shocked at her casual attitude. "The place was completely trashed!"

The Slayer shrugged. "We'll get him back for that. How was London?" She lifted the gun in a mockingly threatening movement, then did it again and again.

"Full of Englishmen," the man in the turtleneck replied, finding a stool and sitting, "some of whom needed a good torturing." Niki was nodding.

"Did we ever find out who _R_ was?" she practiced drawing her machine gun in the mirror as if it were a Colt revolver.

Logan shrugged. "Jack the Ripper for all I know. He never showed his face– I'm guessing he's had access to the Book of the Nosphorus, since he had tables ready when I got there."

Niki popped the magazine from the gun and slid it back in with what could only be described as glee. "This thing is so cool. I know what I want for Christmas."

"An MP-5K?" the leader of the military unit stood up from behind the bar with a bottle of amber liquid. "Personally I'd go with something made in America– but I just shoot who I'm told to shoot and with what I'm told to shoot them."

"Good motto," Logan shrugged, nodding as the man poured him a drink. "I'm Logan, by the way."

"Lieutenant Keller, with the Initiative Against Paranormal Activity." The lieutenant poured himself a drink. "You said everything went well in London?"

Logan nodded. "Though I'd guess everything isn't going so well here: My flight was diverted since there was no response from JFK air traffic. I had to take a taxi from Newark."

"Yeah, we figure the Creep's made a home for himself in freight storage." The lieutenant raised his glass and clinked it with Logan's. "We're coming up with a plan of attack."

Logan looked from Niki to the lieutenant. "Attack? You're telling me you're going to fight these guys all-out?"

Niki let the laser sight play over Logan's black sweater. "Not just us... we've got quite a little band of merry men growing here. Where do you think the regulars are?"

Logan eyed the empty tables and stools, then the men with machine guns. "In body bags?"

"Recruiting," Niki corrected. It took a stunned moment for this to sink in for the small claims lawyer.

"You're shitting me," he said bluntly.

"I shit you not," Niki argued, drawing the weapon again, as if in a Western gunfight. "It's in everyone's best interests if the Creep goes down."

Logan blinked. "And Addison _went for it_?" He looked around the whole bar– "Am I in the Twilight Zone again?" The laser light made figure eights over Logan's forehead as Niki whistled the tune.

"We've picked our field," Keller broke in, pulling the military map he had brought from behind the bar. "Atlantic and Fountain Avenue. Wide enough space for hand to hand combat, lots of building for snipers and spotters."

"Well, Conduit Avenue – that's a perfect channel to march an army from JFK," Logan agreed, examining the map, "but what's so special about Atlantic?"

Niki's preexisting grin widened. "It's what's living _under_ Atlantic Avenue that's special." Logan thought about this for an instant and then nodded.

Keller emptied the last of the bottle into his glass, then went hunting behind the bar for more.

"We've got one more thing up our sleeves," Niki said in a low voice, taking Logan off his stool and leading him out of earshot of the commandos. "One thing you'll need to help with."

Logan nodded. "Anything."

Niki's eyes shifted around the bar. "One of the conditions of getting these guys to fight for us..." she began, reaching into her leather jacket and drawing out the small bag Addison had earlier filled. "We've promised to protect the vampires from the infection – so I need you to put some kinda hex on these," she pulled one of the silver bracelets out of the bag, "that keeps the wearer from getting the infection."

Logan noticeably sagged. "Oh _that's it?_ Why couldn't you make it easy: End world hunger... Clean up the East River..."

"You're saying you can't do it?" the Slayer frowned.

"My skills are kinda limited to assault and defense," Logan looked as disappointed as she. "You want healing, talk to a Wicca..." To her pleading, puppy-dog eyes, he sighed and took the bag. "I'll see what I can do."

--

Surrounded by Harley Davidsons and their massive occupants, the Nail Biter regulars felt very insignificant. A parking lot had never seemed so threatening.

"Hell, we don't want no trouble," the greasy vampire said appeasingly, "we were just asking..."

"Join _you_ against the Creep an' his army?" the burly biker laughed out loud, his big belly jiggling inside his leather vest.

"N- not just us," the vampire stammered, looking nervously from one biker to the next. "Th- the Slayer's getting everyone that's still free together. We're raising an army."

"The _Slayer_!" the lead biker roared, his bike rumbling as if she too were enraged at the idea. "You weasels ally yourselves with that bitch?" Several of the bikers rose from their bikes, reaching into their jackets to retrieve chains, knives and other instruments of pain. "Well, that's worthy of a beating. Eh, gentlemen?" There were grunts and snarls from the other vamps as their faces transformed.

"It's not what you think," the recruiter argued, standing up for himself. "_She_ came to _us_. Once the battle's over– we're all planning on killing her, if the Creep don't do it first."

The lead biker raised his hand and stayed the severe beating. "You've got our attention."

The greasy vamp puffed up his chest and set his jaw. "This will be the biggest group of vampires in the city's history. You think she can take all of us?"

The bikers thought this over. Finally, the lead biker's hog purred her consent as if possessed. "What d'you say gents?" the lead biker grinned. "Do we want a piece of that action?"

--

Niki rapped sharply three times on the door of the posh loft. The Initiative Against Paranormal Activity had a relatively good intel network and had managed to scope out high concentrations of what it called 'Paranormal Activity'.

"Evening," Niki said politely as the pale figure in black opened the door a crack. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in—" the door closed firmly in her face.

The Slayer blinked. After a moment, she knocked three more times. The door opened a crack again and the same face glared at her. "I really think you should consider—" The door closed even faster this time and there were the sounds of locks clicking and a deadbolt sliding into place.

Niki took a deep breath. With a clenched fist she pounded on the door continuously until motion could be heard within. "Open this damn door or I'll bust it down." She gave the solid door a very solid kick. "_You know I can_."

There was a moment of silence after which the door clicked and opened a crack again. "You have five seconds," a thin serpentine voice informed her.

"Do you want a chance to kill some seriously evil vampires, rid the city of a threat to your lifestyle _and_ guarantee your immunity from all Council attention... indefinitely?" She inhaled sharply to emphasize how fast she had been forced to talk because of his ultimatum.

The face at the crack of the door frowned, the rings piercing his face shifting. "What's in it for us?"

Niki's teeth ground together. _How about: I won't dust you here and now?_ she thought with annoyance. "What do you want?"

"I'll have to confer with my colleagues," the face replied. The door closed and remained closed for several minutes.

Niki sighed and leaned against the opposite wall. It was clear that the Goths already knew the situation and were probably preparing some sort of surgical strike operation of their own - doomed to failure with their numbers, but noble nonetheless. Just when the Slayer was convinced they were never going to open the door, she heard the click and the door opened a crack yet again.

"We only want one thing," the Goth said with the hint of an evil grin.

"I'm listening," Niki crossed her arms. This should be interesting.

--

What a sight. Niki breathed in the decidedly foul smelling air. It was quarter past three in the morning. On both sides of the street outside the Nail Biter, demons and vampires were jostling each other and getting into petty fights.

"Well, lieutenant," Niki said with a breath, "it looks like you've got your work cut out for you." She swallowed. This was the largest gathering of demons and vampires she had ever seen. The ones here were actually in line to get into the Nail Biter where they were being matched with weapons and Logan's 'enchanted' bracelets. More were already on their way to the shelters where they would spend the day waiting for tomorrow night's battle.

Keller shrugged. "It could be worse." With no follow-up explanation, Niki turned to him and frowned.

"How?"

The commando frowned, thinking. "We could have run out of scotch." He took a deep breath and looked over his ragtag army. There was no count so far but it looked to be more than a thousand and groups of more than a dozen were still showing up every few minutes.

Niki observed the lieutenant's flawless features and hard jaw line as he gazed seriously across the troops. She noticed with a pang of annoyance how much she had been staring at him and promptly looked away. As she did, he chanced a glance at her, shoving his hands into his black pockets to avoid doing anything foolish with them.

Behind the bar inside the Biter, Addison and Logan were working at getting the army ready for battle.

"Name and species" Logan asked tiredly.

"Hauser and vampire."

Logan nodded, lifting yet another bracelet from the bin. Only the vampires needed them, since the demons couldn't be infected with the Plague. That still meant hundreds of the damn things. Logan had spent most of the day conjuring them and the rest of the day perfecting a protection spell to put on them. With such time constraints, the 'protection' spell was really more for everyone else's protection: if someone wearing one of the bracelets contracted the virus, the silver bracelet would melt through the skin of their wrist and enter their bloodstream as a liquid - lessening the effects of the virus, and eventually killing the infected. That, Logan decided, was preferable to slowly losing their army to the enemy's control.

"Move along," Logan advised as the vampire, instead of sliding the bracelet over his wrist, dropped it into his pocket instead. Hauser then moved to where Addison was handing out swords, knives, axes, stakes — everything that had been in the training room, considering the apartment had been completely emptied of anything useful.

Whistler pushed through the line with another armful of sharp objects to add to the pile behind the bar. None of the demons were being given weapons, unless they were particularly harmless looking.

"That's the last of them," the barkeep reported, taking a position beside Addison and handing out weapons as they were needed.

"There are going to be hundreds of unarmed vampires and demons," Addison said with a frown. "I should have brought my entire collection–"

"No such thing as an unarmed vampire," Niki said from the doorway. For the most part, the demons and vamps in the line beside her ignored her. Some probably didn't even know who she was. "They'll be fine," the Slayer assured her old Watcher, coming around the bar just as the executive door near the far wall opened.

All heads turned as Diego lumbered out, wielding a wickedly curved scimitar. He paused mid stride at all the attention. "Family heirloom," he dismissed. Without another word, he disappeared out the rear exit to where the weaponized demons and vamps were heading.

"You really think this is going to make a difference?" Logan said in a low voice as several demons passed by without stopping by him. Niki paced behind him, a million thoughts and troubles spinning in her mind.

"I'll tell you what'll make a difference," she said candidly, "optimism." Logan laughed once, a sound of accidentally pure amusement. "But seriously," she went on, "if we kill the Nosphorus, then the infected people lose their will to fight. And if we kill the Creep, then the Nosphorus can't organize."

"The perfect vulnerability for the perfect army," Logan agreed. "We'll give him some hell he's never seen before."

"A better question," Niki pondered, pacing past Addison to stand behind Whistler, "is will we win?" She crossed and uncrossed her arms as the demon in the fedora handed a stake to a rather ordinary looking demon. It was creeping up on her – the agitation, the uncertainty before a battle. "You got any ideas in your official capacity as barkeep?"

Whistler turned to her and lowered his gaze to the floor. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to the pile of weapons. He squatted down and retrieved something, standing up again to hand it to her.

To Niki's surprise, it was not a weapon – at least, not the kind the others were getting. The small vial of white powder sat innocently in her palm. "This one of those big moments?" she asked, never taking her eyes from the enemy she had fought longer than the Plague.

"It wouldn't be so terrifying if you didn't see it coming," Whistler turned and continued to hand out weapons as Niki stood as still as a statue, staring at what she knew might be the key to winning the battle – the key to winning the war. Was it difficult to look at because... was she being selfish not taking it? Was it for the greater good? Or was that just an excuse enjoy the sweet bliss of a relapse?

"All you need to do," Whistler said with almost intense casualness, handing out weapons as if he were talking to himself, "is decide."

New Reign - Act 5

The last rays of the spring sun drew reluctantly back behind the horizon, surrendering New York City to night and fate.

Gentle smells and sounds caught in the breeze greeted the simple business man standing under the overpass. The light traffic of the Nassau Expressway hummed above him. He gripped the handle of the briefcase tightly. Anticipation was thrumming through him. Tonight was the night. The New Reign would soon be here. Stepping forward, he heard the resonating thud as every member of his massive army stepped in unison with him. Looking up Van Wyck, he saw his immediate destination. North Conduit Avenue crossed their path.

To the East, it ran into suburban Queens and the millions of humans, perhaps settling down for dinner, who were unknowingly awaiting the New Reign.

To the West, it ran into Brooklyn and the army waiting there for them. The suited figure was well aware of the assembling force which meant to crush him. Led by the Slayer. Augmented by paramilitary forces. Protected from infection by magic. Laced with infected operatives. The man in the suit let the smile spread across his face. The confidence of the Slayer and her army was founded on one simple premise: surprise. They were betting he didn't know about them... or at least, underestimated them. They were betting he didn't know about the magic, the commandos or the white powder. But he knew. Not only had Victoria disclosed all he needed to know before she was purged, but his operatives inside the army itself were relaying with their very eyes and ears the necessary information. Granted, the operatives were not great warriors, and so had no idea what was relevant information and what was useless – but that in itself was irrelevant. He was as adept a tactician as the world had seen in centuries. His interpretation of the strategies and plans of the Slayer left no room for their victory. The New Reign was virtually certain.

West it was. The grin didn't diminish as he considered that the reason the Slayer was waiting for him was because she knew he knew she was waiting. Since he knew this information, it became irrelevant. He had studied any advantages inherent in her position: six kilometers West of his current location, and had decided they were negligible.

Again he praised his ancestors and the brilliance of ancient wisdom. The tactics of the Macedonians were timeless. The group of witch doctors, of which he had been apart, had studied the brilliant military might of the Greeks and had concluded that with current Macedonian technology and manpower, victory was impossible. The Greek gods were strong and fierce to defend their cities and the phalanx was as yet impenetrable. Then the inspiration had come. Rats could carry bubonic plague into a city undetected and without warning an outbreak could devastate a population. Surely larger, fiercer rats could do even worse... And the Nosphorus were born.

In the olden days, a single Nosphorus or two could bring down a city's guard and garrison it all at once. Now, two hundred and eighty ravenous Nosphorus stood at the heels of over three thousand infected humans, white eyed and blank faced. At a single thought, however, they would transform from the dull, listless ghosts into slavering animals with the strength of six men. Their captains, some still rat-like and some appearing as conventional vampires, were more powerful still. In terms of the manner of battle in ages past, this army was equal to one of twenty three thousand. No rabble of random demons could stop them. No Slayer could stop them.

"Forward," the Creep said quietly, his army stepping forward as fast as the thought occurred to him. Marching like soldiers on parade, but parading for no one, the vast army started forward to an inhuman rhythm of feet pounding in perfect unison. The Creep walked at their head, leading the solid mass of marching death. "Perfection," he murmured with a simple smile. The Old Ones would be pleased.

--

Niki shuddered. What a mess. At last count there was just under two thousand demons and vampires. They were standing about in no particular order between North and South Conduit Avenues, just behind Glenmore. Facing East, the corridor created by the Conduit Avenues led more or less six straight kilometers to the advancing army. It was still out of sight and light was rapidly fading. Behind them, a few hundred meters, Atlantic Avenue had their backs.

The Slayer swallowed and looked sidelong across the front line. At least it maintained some semblance of order. The entirety of Keller's paramilitary organization had been assembled, numbering over one hundred - armed with submachine guns and assault rifles. They all had standing orders to shoot to kill, even considering the human infected could still be cured. There was enough provision made to ensure as many people survived as possible, but the enemy couldn't be allowed to see that.

Keller had set up road blocks and pylons to keep traffic from entering the surrounding streets and his contacts had ensured the police would not be informed. Over two dozen sharp shooters were positioned far behind them in the buildings and on the rooftops surrounding the intersection with Atlantic, ready for the inevitable retreat of the main army.

The vampires were assembled behind the line of guns, clustering naturally into their own divisions. The Goths had taken the Northern end of the line, slinking in and out of the deeper shadows cast by the buildings, making it difficult to count their numbers accurately.

The East River gang had centered themselves along the line and looked to be itching for a fight. Many of them were Nail Biter regulars and Niki recognized one called Hauser. Next to them were the Lower Manhattan crew - slightly aristocratic and appearing to have something entirely better to do with their time than stand around waiting for death.

The Southern line was made up of a collection of small vampire gangs from the Bronx and around New Jersey. They seemed eager for a chance to fight... anything. They, along with several other gangs, had supplied their own weapons, ranging from shotguns and knives to actual grenades.

The demons were wandering in and out of the other ranks, tending to stand alone where they could, picking fights with the vampires where they couldn't. Somewhere, though no one seemed to be able to spot it, was the chameleon demon that Addison had recruited, which was only interested in getting its knife back.

Keller noticed her discomfort and touched her elbow. "Everything will be ready. Don't worry about that."

"What's the word on the power transformers?" she asked, never looking him in the eyes.

"They're hooked up and ready to go," he answered reassuringly. "Only one dance partner missing in this tango."

Niki nodded and took a deep and cleansing breath. Despite the mess they found themselves in, she had never felt more like a Slayer than she did today. With Addison and Logan on her left and Keller and Whistler on her right, she had never been more alive and at the same time terrified than at every moment which passed since the sunset. The high was unique because unlike the normal thrill of slaying on Stuff, this could be their complete and utter end. It was like the kind of dream that shoved her through time: warping her perceptions to bring the edge closer and closer before she was ready, before it could realistically be possible. It seemed like only seconds ago that they were beginning the trek from Manhattan, hoping, praying that the army in hiding was advancing with them, through the sewers and subways.

It seemed like only yesterday that she had awoken from the Cure Table, driving a shard of wood through the last silver S in KISS. Dusting him.

"Pearce would have loved this," Niki muttered wryly, the surreal dream feeling fading. If there was one thing that could ground her it was the thought of the annoying, often pathetic Little Vampire Who Couldn't.

"For Pearce, then," Logan offered, cracking his knuckles hard into his palms. His face was nearly invisible in the dim light of the late evening but the intensity of his eyes couldn't be hidden by darkness. They were almost glowing.

Addison cocked his old shotgun as loudly and ferociously as he could. With a belt arrayed with stakes and his short sword he knew there was little chance of him coming through this alive. His one consolation was that when the Council awoke and found themselves strapped to torture tables, he himself would not be around for demotion.

Keller and Whistler were quiet, peering into the distance where motion could just be detected. It was nearly ten minutes before Niki could convince herself that she wasn't dreaming – that the ground was actually trembling like the pounding of her own heart. The opposing army was definitely coming. The perfect army.

"Oh _shit_," Logan swore with annoyance, dropping his gun and jumping out of line. He began to pat down his own pockets, searching frantically and finally finding something in the back pocket of his jeans. He sighed with relief.

"_What?_" Niki demanded nervously, frowning at him along with the other three.

Logan stepped toward her and smiled an honest and warmhearted smile. "If we're going to die... then there's something I have to give you." Niki's frown deepened and her lips pursed as he drew something from his back pocket that she couldn't see in the deepening darkness. She felt him place it in her hand and suddenly Keller's small flashlight clicked on.

Niki gazed down at the small piece of paper in the palm of her hand as Logan collected his gun and stepped back into line. With infinite slowness and a pounding heart, Niki unfolded the small note.

_Knicks, good luck with your drumming career. _

_Sorry your band landed on tough times: _

_Hang in there._

_-Joey Ramone_

The Slayer blinked. The paper felt weightless in her hands. _Joey Ramone's autograph!!_ her brain screamed at her. The giddiness bubbled up inside her and she laughed out loud: pure and childish. The laughter continued as the approaching army came into sight, marching with complete and horrible synchronicity. The ground thundered and Niki laughed, tears filling her eyes.

Then with a snap she folded the paper and tucked it lovingly into the inside pocket of her worn leather jacket. Her hand closed around the simple wooden stake which was all she carried. The smile remained, touching her eyes as the army came within forty feet and stopped.

The Slayer couldn't rid herself of the pesky smile as she looked the enemy's ranks in the eye, uncountable white-eyed people, dotted with hundreds of vampire and Nosphorus faces. The army swept back into the blackness of the night and its rearmost ranks couldn't be seen. As far as she knew, it went back forever.

With her newfound amusement, she pulled the radio from Keller's belt and clicked the talk button. "Do it."

--

Positioned among the trees of the center median between the North and South Conduit Avenues, and all amongst the buildings flanking the defending army, floodlights had been placed and hooked up to local power transformers.

At the signal, all the lights burst on, turning night into day. There was an initial buzzing as the filaments heated up, a sudden roaring as most of both armies snarled and cringed in the harsh light and a vicious blaze of gunfire from the front line commandos which cut the cringing infected to pieces.

Someone at the South end of the line had the sense to throw a grenade into the enemy ranks, throwing bodies and body parts from its blast radius deep in the dense enemy army.

Niki had just caught sight of a figure standing ahead of the lines of blank faced people when the lights and gunfire did their job and nearly blinded her. The smoke that in the roaring ocean of bullets was drifting downwind towards the enemy showed the red tracer lasers which crisscrossed the divide between an evil army and an even more evil army. Soon the smoke obscured the enemy completely and Niki lifted the radio to her lips, having to shout the cease fire. The white cloud, lit from their side by banks of lights, hung like a curtain where the man in the black suit had brought his army.

Niki stared hard into the bright cloud, searching for any sign of movement. Then her eyes scanned upward and found the eddies of motion. A figure leapt from the cloud straight at them.

"Watch out," Keller said sternly, lifting his gun and driving several rounds into it - knocking it from its trajectory before it hit the ground. They all stepped out of the way as it crunched into the soft earth.

Niki jammed her heel into the back of its neck and drove her stake through its back, not satisfied until it dissolved beneath her boot. Looking back East, the cloud began to swirl and churn with motion. She raised the radio to her lips again. "Move in." Turning around, she glanced at the members of the vampire gangs behind her. "_Move in_," she called. Before she had finished the order, they had sprung into a frenzy of activity.

Members of the front line gave the same order to the vampires behind them. A snarling, terrifying wall of game faced vampires charged past the front line, shoving aside the men with guns and falling through the smoke to meet the hidden army there. The first wave of more than one hundred and fifty disappeared behind the curtain and it swirled closed behind them.

Almost instantly, Niki's stomach turned. Something was sickening wrong with the silence. Not a snarl or a scream. Then she felt it. The cool breeze tossed her dirty blonde hair across her face. The curtain drew back and, like a machine, the army marched out. Not a trace of the vampires could be seen.

Niki's fist shook as it gripped the stake. She could no longer see the man in the black suit and the front line was looking quite rattled. With a snarl on her lips, she shoved the radio into Keller's hand and charged. Logan was after her in a heartbeat and Addison and Whistler followed.

Keller lifted his gun and fired off several rounds to either side of them. Lifting the radio he shouted over the sudden noise. "Fire at will!"

Niki felt the noise before she heard it. Her feet pounding as fast as they would carry her, her eyes were locked on the infected person straight ahead of her. A wave like bad breath washed over her as the person toward whom she ran, and all those on both sides, opened their mouths and howled. Transforming from blank faced zombies to feral animals, they charged towards the front line and the bullets beginning to fly from it.

The second wave of vampires jumped over the front lines into the infected ranks as the men with guns were forced to fight hand to hand. As the roar of battle grew, the gunfire tapered off, occurring now in spurts and followed by screams.

With a loud explosion, one of the floodlight stands crashed into the ground as the battle spilled behind the front line. The main penetration was just North of the center median, tearing through the ranks and allowing the rearguard of Nosphorus to march up North Conduit. Further to the South, the front was actually pinwheeling the enemy back towards the East.

Niki landed hard on the infected, toppling him back into the others. Snarling and foaming, the man charged, his eyes snapping wide open as the stake skillfully slid between his ribs and out again. Niki spun and jabbed left and right, dropping the infected one after another as they emerged from the still marching horde. She dashed up onto the small pile of bodies and launched herself into the air towards the nearest Nosphorus who was driving the tide of infected. She landed on top of him with her stake in his throat, then found him rolling her onto her back. With his mouth open, his jaw locked her stake in place and she was forced to use her bare hands. He bent down to bite her with rat-like teeth, saliva dribbling down to her disgusted face.

With a powerful knee to the thigh, she sent him toppling off of her. Back on her feet, she grabbed the infected who came at her and used his momentum to drive him into the second who was attempting the same from the other side. As the Nosphorus rose to his feet, Niki crouched low. With blood pouring down his neck he hissed and sent a spray of blood towards her. She closed her mouth, forcing her breathing to slow, to avoid getting any of his diseased blood in her system. With a kick like lightning, she drove her toe into the butt of the stake under his chin, rocketing it out the back of his skull and dropping him to the ground. She was pulled to the ground by three infected who piled on top of her.

Nearby, Logan clutched the face of one of the feral soldiers. With a hissing scream, his hands sent frost across the old man's face, freezing his mouth and eyes wide open and turning his lips blue. Before he could drop the corpse, rough hands seized his shoulders, pulling back as they touched the conjurer's burning skin. The man in the eternally black turtleneck turned on his attacker and caught him in the chin with his fist. The soldier screamed and fell to the ground as his face burst into flames. Meanwhile, Logan drove his elbow into another soldier's gut, flinging him back with the supernatural force.

His heart was pounding faster than he could perceive and his movements seemed to be guided by nothing short of divine cognizance. Each stroke used the least physical energy and struck with the perfect killing force. He didn't rest until he was knee deep in writhing or still bodies, the ranks around him pulling back and thinning - preferring to advance in more favorable directions.

Addison collapsed as fists pounded into his back. His shotgun blasted away until all the cartridges were spent and he found himself at the bottom of a clawing biting pile of wounded feral soldiers. With no room to draw his sword, he waited with failing breath for the terrible end to come.

Niki flinched as the roar of a machine gun filled her ears. The bodies on top of her quivered and arched, eventually becoming limp. A hand found hers and she was surprised to find Keller in the thick of the turning tide. He gave a small smile and nod, then turned and sent thirty rounds into the retreating line.

Though they had pushed back the enemy here in the South, primarily because of the Nosphorus they had killed, it was clear the North was not faring as well. Keller's commandos were all but extinct and the Goths were finding themselves overwhelmed by the tide of hissing and screaming infected who were pouring down North Conduit towards them. With a clatter, another one of the light stands was toppled, relinquishing more of the battle to darkness.

Niki grabbed Keller's belt and drew him towards her. Before he could say anything, she grabbed the radio from its holster and clicked the talk button. "General retreat," she called as loud as she could. "Fall back to Atlantic!" Slapping the device back into the frowning man's hand, she dashed towards where she had last seen Logan.

With a flash of light and a seismic tremor, Niki found him at the center of a ring of charred bodies. His face was pallid and he was gasping for breath. She stuck her arm under his and shouldered as much of his weight as she could without actually carrying him. Together they ran West towards the last of the lights and the safety that Atlantic Avenue promised, hopping and stumbling over the bodies of the dead and dying infected, the dead and dying demons and the maimed vampires.

At the sound of a ferocious shout, Niki took Logan and herself to the ground. Diego charged past them, his scimitar high above his head. There were hissing screams as he began to hack his way as far into the army as he could.

"Come on!" Whistler shouted to the Slayer, motioning them to get up. She lifted Logan to his feet and he found he was able to run on his own again. They ran to Whistler as a torso flew past them, striking the base of one of the light posts, bringing it down across their path. They jumped over it like a hurdle and Whistler came in beside them, handing the Slayer her short sword. There was nothing but bodies around them now. The battle had moved to the North front and was rapidly following the retreat towards Atlantic.

The field widened to their left as it opened into a sort of small park and there was a copse of trees before the road. Niki indicated the cover and Logan nodded, scooping up an assault rifle as they approached the rear of the retreating Southern line.

In the cover of the trees, Niki was able to calm her breathing and finally let out a sadistic laugh. Here at Atlantic the trap was set. Here was where everything would play out– the grin was forgotten in an instant as Niki spotted her target again.

The man in the black suit stood next to his briefcase, slicing through the air with the curved copper blade that had been stolen from Niki's apartment. The Creep was low in stance and blindingly fast with each stroke, doing nothing but barely drawing blood from each vamp who charged him – hoping, no doubt, to infect them later and increase his army.

The big demon from the Nail Biter who had been the first to enlist grabbed the Creep in a bear hug from behind, growling as he tried to crush the suited figure with pure strength. Niki stayed in the trees to watch, Whistler's hand on her arm to keep her from running out too early.

In what seemed to be an affront to simple physics, the smaller, slimmer vampire took the titan of a demon by the shoulders and hurled him over his head, breaking the embrace. The demon crashed into the pavement of Atlantic Avenue. Niki launched herself forward, sword in hand. The Creep caught sight of her and readied himself for battle.

Niki quickened her pace to cover the hundred feet between them before he pulled another disappearing act. One thing that was bothering her was the cloud of smoke which persisted in trying to conceal him...

A scaled hand came down on her shoulder and shoved her forward off balance. She hit the grass with a grunt and she felt the foot of a slim creature press into the small of her back as it raced past her.

Shaking her head, she squinted as the running creature disappeared right in front of her. With the scattering effect like a disco ball, the creature's scales blended with the dim and desperate surroundings and it was lost from sight in seconds.

The Creep, too, seemed to have momentarily lost sight of the new attacker. With a thud, the chameleon demon landed on the stunned vampire from above, making a nearly invisible grab for the knife. The Creep was reluctant, however, to give up his prize. He struck out with his fist as the face that wasn't there, jammed an elbow into the ribs that weren't there and finally jumped to his feet to sweep a large circle with the blade at the demon that wasn't there.

He turned on Niki with an odd look and appeared to be readying to charge. She raised her sword defensively, then lowered it and took on a puzzled expression.

The Creep turned around in a blur of motion to see a rising cloud of what was now clearly fog and a visual oddity at its center at which the vampire in black immediately lunged. He was slow, or inaccurate, but missed in either case, and the scaly hand took a fistful of his hair, tugging his head back with a hiss. The other scaly hand jammed into the Creep's lower spine, keeping him at a safe distance.

It was only then that the demon came back into view, making the scene of a backward bent vampire less mind-bending. Shifting red and blue and gold scales gave the wrathful demon the appearance of some Aztec mosaic. With the Creep's arms flailing about, the knife clutched firmly in one of them, the chameleon had to release his spine to make a grab for it. As soon as he did, Niki could foresee what happened next.

The Creep's hand came up and caught hold of the scaly thing grabbing his hair. He twisted around in a blur of motion once his back was free and dragged the blade right through the colorful demon's midsection, slicing him neatly in half. The demon gave a terrible hiss and dissolved to fog, slinking away into the night.

With a satisfied nod, the Creep turned his attentions back to the Slayer. She was no longer where she had been. Turning instinctively to where she now was, the Creep let the blade fly without an instant's hesitation.

Sparks curved out into the darkness of Atlantic Avenue on either side of Niki's head as the Blade of Paradise was cleaved perfectly in two by her upturned sword. She was wearing a classically Valtaine smirk.

With a small laugh to acknowledge her skill, he charged. Niki turned away from him to her left and saw what was coming — lunging out of the way just in time.

--

Logan managed to free himself from Whistler's restraining grasp and run back out onto the gory field. Here, unlike at the front lines, there was both deeper cover and snipers picking off everything they could that still moved. They were having a harder time of it on the other side of the median.

The entirety of the Nosphorus army had diverted to North Conduit Avenue once they had managed to punch through the front line there. There were only leaderless infected running amok now South of the median and Logan had to shoot frequently into the darkness to hit them.

"Logan!" A voice shouted out of the night. Logan hopped over the downed light stand and came face to face with Keller. He had three commandos still with him and he was looking at his small map under the beam of his small flashlight. "We're going to come around their flank," he said as Logan got within earshot. "You and Riddley take out the humans – I'll aim for the Hostile." The soldier to whom he spoke nodded and slid a fresh magazine into his machine gun. The light clicked off and the two commandos stood aside as Keller spoke to Logan.

"You're going at their flank?" Logan said quietly as the lieutenant stashed his map and drew his gun from his back, shrugging off the strap that held it there. "With two men? That's suicide."

"We've estimated that we've dropped their forces to approximately sixty percent of initial. Unless you have some backup on its way," Keller shook his head, "this battle isn't looking good." He dropped the depleted clip from his submachine gun and pulled out a new one. "I figure we can give your main forces some relief by drawing their attention back here. We may be able to convince them that there are more of us left than they thought."

"How much ammo do you have left?" Logan said rationally.

Keller shrugged and jammed the magazine into place. "What you see is what you get."

"Sir," Riddley called, jogging back to the two out of the night. "Wright reports the main force has reached Atlantic Avenue."

Keller nodded. "Now or never." He turned to follow Riddley but called over his shoulder. "We could use some more convincing power..."

Logan groaned, rolling his eyes. He set off jogging behind the lieutenant. _This is —by far— the worst thing..._

The conjurer reached Keller who had already opened fire on the ranks of people swarming at the vampires in retreat. The vampires —mostly Goths in this area— were fighting valiantly. But the numbers of the infected were just too many and even an armed vampire was no match for a Nosphorus.

With now the four of them firing indiscriminately into the battle, many of the Nosphorus began to take notice. They actually managed to drive a wedge between the southernmost flank and the main force, still over a thousand strong. Into the gap, the Goths and other vampires retreated and formed a line behind the four gunmen. There were fewer of them than Logan had imagined and the situation looked grim. While the snipers in the buildings across North Conduit were still firing into the crowd, their effects seemed insignificant now.

The southern group of infected and their Nosphorus were circling around the last of the vampires and were closing in behind the gunmen at the same time that Niki dove to the ground just in time.

With a tremendous roar, the bikers had arrived. Wielding chains, guns, knives and anything else they could get their hands on, they tore down Atlantic by the hundreds, dashing the southern flank to pieces. Their bikes stopped just short of the remaining main force, come to a halt next to the gunmen. The lead biker dismounted, rolled his shoulders back and spit onto the ground. With a glance at the Goths he gave a little chortle. "No fucking wonder you're losing." And he charged into the enemy ranks followed by the hundreds of bikers.

There were gunshots and one small explosion along with screams and howls. Logan kept firing as the main force scattered and came their way. The kickback from the gun made his hands numb but he held the trigger until the clip was empty.

--

Niki rolled out of the road, dropping her sword, as the lines of motorcycles roared past. They were an immovable river driving down Atlantic Avenue. They were too thick and fast to get through and they divided her from her target. The Creep stood on the south side of the roaring river, glaring at her. She was struck by the resemblance he now bore to the horrific figure from her dream —from the dream of paradise she had experienced when on the Table. He was no longer the amusingly backward bent vampire locked in combat with the chameleon: he was dark and sinister. She had the feeling he was something more than a simple vampire. Not different, just more. She shook the feeling as he stood there like a pillar of darkness glaring at her, trying to will her to death.

Niki adopted a sarcastic grin, puckered her lips and feigned blowing him kisses. She could see him fume. In a blur of moving shadow he spanned the river of still flowing bikers in one leap. He landed as if he had just stepped off a curb.

The two began to circle each other, the Slayer moving as cautiously and defensively as she could, the Creep moving like a marionette: with only his legs moving. The rest of his body appeared unnaturally to be motionless as his legs carried him around the circle they made.

"You do impress me, Slayer, I will admit that." He stalked around the circle as he had in her dream, as if he were just a puppet on a string, enjoying the ride. "This little militia you've assembled," he looked back up the street as the last of the bikers rode north to where the real battle was taking place, "is really quite elegant... in its own way." She wasn't going to make a move until he did. She didn't trust basic physics around this individual. Every way he moved was like a kick in the teeth to rationality.

"It serves to illustrate," the Creep continued, like a historian on a fixed salary, "how order, throughout recorded and unrecorded history has always triumphed over disorder. The Greeks, the Romans, the British... they all prevailed in traditional warfare because of their unflinching–" he took a step towards her, shrinking the circle, "–unwavering, order. If their order is indestructible, then so are they. So are we." He took another step forward, but Niki took one back, drawing the circle they danced out onto the street. "Once the deluge is over, the Old Ones will return and the truest, purest order will be resurrected."

"I think you overestimate your little army," Niki said, drawing the circle towards a manhole cover. "On a good day, I could probably take them on myself..." she eyed the solid disc of steel at her feet. "It's just that I have these thousands of demons and vampires..." she shrugged, "and they _all_ want a piece of you." She drove her fist into the manhole cover, sending it spinning into the air where she grabbed it like a massive Frisbee.

The Creep smiled at this. He continued to advance as she continued to retreat. "I think you overestimate yourself." He reached into his suit coat and pulled from it a small glass vial. His smile widened as Niki obviously recognized it. It was identical in every way... He threw it to her feet where it shattered and the white powder within spread across the pavement like snow. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist taking the Stuff before a battle this big."

"Poison..." Niki said, her stomach turning.

"Not at all," the Creep assured her. "You'll survive quite healthily — under my command." Niki's jaw tensed. "The Stuff was laced with the very virus you all fear. By now it is lodged itself in your brain and is awaiting my very imminent commands." He laughed out loud, tracing the Slayer's steps as she dodged around the circle and came around back to the curb where they had started, but with the Creep now on the street.

Niki held the manhole cover now like a shield, keeping it instinctively between herself and the man in the black suit. Before he could speak a command, she took advantage of his laughter and launched the discus at him with all her might.

The steel caught him in the chest and sent him backwards onto the pavement. He landed hard but was soon on his feet, his amusement gone. "I believe I've changed my mind," he said angrily, holding his ground as she advanced on him. "I had considered giving you the mercy of servitude and letting you see the New Reign, but it's obvious even your demon heart can't appreciate that. But you do have one little thing I'd like to add to my collection, so before I have you kill yourself, I'd like that bracelet of yours... or of Pierce's I should say."

Niki glanced down at the silver bracelet which still clung doggedly to her wrist. She looked up and scoffed. "Fuck you." There was a deadly silence upon the world in the instant that followed. She raised her eyebrows condescendingly and reached into her own jacket. Next to the folded autograph was a small vial. She pulled it out and threw it at the dark figure's feet. Shattering, it spread its white contents across the dark pavement. "I never took any."

The Creep looked in confusion at the glass and infected drug at his feet. This was not what was supposed to happen... Victoria—

"Victoria lied," said a voice behind him. He turned to see the bartender standing on the other side of the street. "Who wouldn't for candy?" he asked skeptically.

The Creep's eyes darted back and forth; the strings which had seemed to hold him up were now apparently cut. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen.

"I get the feeling," Niki said, making the vamp in black turn quickly around again, "that you're going to have some explaining to do to these Old Ones." Niki was kneeling, reaching for something on the pavement. The vampire's mind was racing with all manner of alternative ways to win this confrontation: there was certainly no way the Slayer could beat him. It was—

"_Look out_," Whistler called from behind him.

His instincts abandoning him, the Creep used all his reflexes and moved like a shadow in smoke. The very instant he began to move, he came to the realization it would be his doom. His eyes locked with those of Whistler who was standing happily on the other side of the street as a decoy. The Creep's eyes slowly tracked down to the blade which was making its way out through his chest. The length of the sword which was in front of him now meant Niki had impaled him all the way to the hilt. His suit was ruined... He gasped for breath and tried to turn, but felt her hands deliver an irresistible shove. He went to the ground with every intention of getting back up— except there was no ground where he landed.

The vampire in black disappeared down into the darkness of the manhole. Niki quickly grabbed the cover and slid it into place, standing on it for insurance. It wouldn't take long.

The Creep groaned and looked up from the floor of the sewer. A whisper seemed to come from everywhere around him. His eyes widened.

"It's a person!" the large thing whispered gleefully. The air around the vampire seemed to get thicker as the things moved closer. "It's a man person! I love man persons."

The Creep turned his head in terror as another whisper filled the sewer, the slow slurping of movement echoing from all sides. "Take no chances this time: let's have its head part."

--

Niki was leaning up against a tree when the sun's first rays peeked over the horizon. She considered playing her favorite game with all the maimed vampires laying here and there on the field and streets, but then thought she'd rather like to sleep instead.

Logan staggered up to her, his face smeared with grime and his hair completely messed up. His turtleneck was torn by something with claws but he looked very much alive. He collapsed next to Niki against the tree as the motorcycles began to roar away to shelter.

"That's it," he said with exhaustion. "That's all of them." Niki blinked. That was sufficient thanks, she decided. "You're welcome," Logan laughed, sensing her gratitude, unconscious though it may be.

"Look who I found," Keller muttered, shuffling backwards over the field towards the trees, dragging something heavy and ungrateful.

"Take your hands off me," Addison groaned, trying to free himself from the lieutenant's solid grip. Logan laughed heartily at the sight. Finally Keller had had enough of the Watcher's squirming and dropped him solidly in the dirt. Addison pulled himself to his feet and walked three paced before slumping down against the tree beside the triumphant, though semi-conscious warriors. "Well done, all," he nodded sleepily, letting his head loll about a little.

"_You_," a voice announced. Keller raised his gun but Niki stopped him, forcing herself to stand and face the figure who marched toward her. It was the leader of the biker gang. Much of his gang had been slaughtered before the army had found itself leaderless and he was here to collect his fee. "I was promised your death if I fought here." He wiped his muscular arm across his brow and managed to smear blood across his cheek.

"Excuse me," another voice exclaimed from behind him. All heads turned as the Goth drifted towards them, his white face marked with blood and dirt. He was cleaning his small dagger on his black sleeve and was glaring pointedly at the Slayer. "Promises were made to me as well."

Niki sighed and looked from one of her slouching friends to the next. She caught sight of Whistler and he tossed her his stake. She held it loosely and turned back to the vampires.

"I don't know who made promises to you," she addressed the massive biker, "but I _personally_ made commitments to this guy here," she indicated the black clad vamp next to him. She turned to the Goth and slumped visibly. "But you know what? I'm a little tuckered out: you do it." She tossed him the stake and he caught it easily.

The biker growled as she ignored him, stepped closer as Niki slumped down against the tree again. He ignored the Goth who had taken a step back. "My gang can be back here in—"

"I appreciate your gang's contributions," Niki said amicably with a shrug. "But a promise is a promise–" the stake poked out through the biker's chest as the Goth stabbed him in the heart through the back. "And I'm trying to keep my promises these days." The dust wafted away in the gentle morning wind. Without having to turn her head, Niki now faced the Goth. "You might want to get indoors before that sun gets all visible and incendiary." The vampire in the black trench coat made a small bow and tossed the stake back to her.

As he walked away, Logan leaned closer with a frown. "That was odd... letting him live."

Niki closed her eyes with a sigh and a shrug. "My whole life's odd. And you ain't exactly Johnny Normal."

"Hmm," the conjurer agreed, closing his eyes. After a long moment of silence around the tree against which they all now rested, Logan spoke up. "How long do you figure before the cops show up and we all get hauled off to jail?"

Keller rolled his head to one side. "Five... ten minutes maybe..."

Logan nodded and shifted to get more comfortable as the sun rose above the tops of the buildings. "Wake me before then, okay?"


End file.
